#so updates will be slower from here on out

[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 11

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Chapter Summary: Agatha sneaks into your house, and an already risky plan takes an unexpected, and even riskier, turn.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I know this update took forever and I am so sorry, work and life in general have been crazy lately. Writing has been such a slow process, and finding the time to sit down and focus has been hella hard.

That said, I’m so grateful for your patience and support—it truly means the world to me. Every comment, like, and bit of encouragement keeps me motivated to push through, even when things feel overwhelming. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it.

Thank you for sticking with me through this journey. Your love for this story keeps me going 💜

It feels like you’ve been hiding in the shadows of your garden for hours. You have no idea how much time has passed or how long Agatha has been inside.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been waiting an eternity.

The night grows colder and heavier with each passing second, the chill creeps through your dress, your eyes fixed on the darkened windows above. The faint glow of the kitchen light spills onto the ground, a subtle but constant reminder of your mother’s presence inside.

You clench your hands into fists at your sides, trying to still the growing unease coiling in your chest. The plan had seemed straightforward at the time: get Agatha inside, have her pretend to be you, and wait for her to open the window. But now, as you stand in the biting cold, the enormity of the risks begins to gnaw at you.

Agatha doesn’t know your mother. Not the way you do. 

She doesn’t know the sharp edge to her voice, the way her words cut deeper than her glares. She doesn’t know the little tells, the moments when her mood shifts and it’s better to stay quiet than risk provoking her. And most importantly, Agatha doesn’t know the intricate, tense dance you’ve perfected over years of enduring her.

The weight of it all suddenly feels crushing. You shift uneasily, your breathing shallow as your thoughts spiral. What if your mother notices something’s off? What if Agatha hesitates or says the wrong thing? What if she tries to talk her way out of something and slips up? 

You bite down on your lip, forcing yourself to breathe slower, deeper. But the thoughts don’t stop. 

What if your mother catches her before she even reaches your room? What if she figures out the truth? What would she do - to Agatha, to you - if she realized the extent of this betrayal? Your mind conjures up a dozen worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

A sharp gust of wind pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you glance down instinctively at the small bundle of fur near your feet. The rabbit, Agatha’s rabbit, sits quietly in the shadows beside you, its nose twitching as it sniffs the night air. Its presence is steady, calm, almost indifferent to the storm raging in your head.

You crouch down slightly, your fingers brushing against the creature’s soft fur. It doesn’t flinch, simply shifts closer as if it senses your unease. There’s something grounding about the animal, something simple and reassuring. Agatha had brought it here with her, and for some reason, the thought that something she clearly cares for is by your side soothes the sharp edges of your panic.

You take another breath, steadier this time. The faint glow from the kitchen is still there, unchanging, and the stillness of the house seems both unnerving and hopeful. 

She’s inside. She’ll make it.

And then, finally, you hear the faint creak of the window above. 

Your head snaps up, your pulse quickening as you watch it ease open. Your own face peers out from the shadowed wooden frame, tense and searching the garden below. It takes you a second to remember that it’s actually Agatha.

The sight pulls at something strange in your chest. You know the spell you cast has served its purpose, that she’s safe now. That realization settles over you like a wave, and you exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

Closing your eyes, you draw on the lingering energy of the spell, your magic buzzing faintly under your skin. You picture her, not as a reflection of yourself, but as she truly is: darker, undeniably powerful, magnetic. With a flick of your wrist and a soft breath, you send the magic out, releasing it.

When you open your eyes, the figure leaning out of the window has changed. Her true form has returned: wild, dark hair framing her face, sharp cheekbones catching the faintest glow of the night.

Agatha’s gaze catches yours, steady and knowing, as if she’s fully aware of what you’ve just done. She tilts her head slightly in acknowledgment, a silent signal to come up. 

The tension in your chest doesn’t fully ease, but you let yourself glance at the towering tree at the center of the garden, its ancient branches stretching out in every direction like a great, unmoving sentinel. The bark is thick and weathered, furrowed with deep grooves that speak of countless seasons endured. 

Its lowest branches bow slightly under their own weight, but higher up, the limbs grow stronger, sprawling outward with a defiant strength. One of its largest branches curves close to your window, not enough to block the view from your room but near enough to serve as your path inside.

The tree has always been there, a quiet companion through your childhood. Back then, its lower limbs had felt like a sanctuary, their rough surfaces welcoming and steady beneath your hands. You’d scramble up effortlessly, laughing as you dangled your legs and let the world blur into your own imagined wilderness. 

But tonight, the tree looms above you, its branches no longer inviting but daunting, like a puzzle demanding perfect precision. Your gaze fixes on the thick branch that leads toward your window, and doubt creeps in uninvited.

You exhale, trying to calm the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. The branches look sturdy, thicker than they seemed when you were younger, but you know they’ll need to hold more than they ever have before.

You step closer to the tree as you prepare to hoist yourself up. But as you look upward, plotting your path, reality snaps into focus. 

One of your hands is clutching the rabbit, its small body shifting slightly against your palm, leaving the other useless for climbing. Both hands will be needed to grip the bark and the branches, to steady yourself as you ascend.

You can’t climb like this.

Your jaw tightens as you glance down at the animal, then over your shoulder at the satchel pulling against your back. The weight of both feels suddenly oppressive, a barrier between you and the safety of the window above.

Your breath is clouding in the cold air as you glance up at the towering tree again. For a moment, you stand frozen, your mind racing for a solution.

Then, an idea comes to you. Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all you’ve got, and it’ll have to do.

Kneeling carefully, you place the rabbit gently on the ground beneath the tree. 

“Stay.” you whisper softly, as the small creature sniffs the grass, its twitching nose brushing against a fallen leaf. You shrug the satchel off your back, unfastening the flap with fingers that tremble slightly from the cold.

You glance down at the contents of the bag and let out a soft sigh of relief. Agatha, it seems, is a light packer. There’s enough space, you think, and without hesitation, you scoop up the rabbit again, cradling its small body close for a moment. 

“Alright, you’re going in.” you whisper, angling the bag carefully to create a safe, snug space.

The rabbit shifts, its ears flicking in mild protest, but it doesn’t wriggle too much as you tuck it in among the folds of Agatha’s clothing. You adjust the fabric gently, making sure it’s secure, and offer a quiet, almost reassuring murmur. “See? Not so bad.”

You hope the familiar scent will keep it calm during the climb. For a moment, the faint smell reaches you as well - earthy yet sweet, rich and layered - and it stops you in your tracks. The briefest flicker of distraction pulls at you before you shake it off, focusing on closing the satchel and readying yourself for the climb.

You glance up at the window to check for any sign from Agatha, but what you see halts you. She’s leaning out of the darkened window, her features clear despite the shadows, and her expression… well, if looks could kill, you’d be flat on the ground.

Her glare is direct and unmistakable, her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It doesn’t take much to realize why. 

She’s staring straight at the satchel slung over your shoulder and the rabbit inside it. You’re frozen, caught mid-motion, her piercing gaze making you feel oddly small, like a child caught red-handed. Your irritation flares before you can stop it, the sharp edge of it cutting through your nerves. 

‘What exactly does she expect me to do?’ you think, sarcasm practically spilling over. ‘Carry it in my teeth?!’

You bite back a laugh at your own thoughts, the absurdity of the situation tugging at the corners of your mouth. You glance away from the window, shaking your head with a mix of annoyance and amusement. 

“As if she’d have a better idea.” you mutter quietly to yourself, the words more a release of tension than anything else.

The bark digs into your palms as you grip the trunk, pulling yourself up onto the first branch. It creaks faintly under your weight, but it holds, as it always has. Your breath comes slow and deliberate, each movement measured as you reach for the next handhold.

Even so, the awareness of Agatha’s eyes on you gnaws at the edge of your focus. Her gaze feels like a weight on your back, amplifying every misstep and every slight tremble in your limbs. The idea of her judging your clumsy climb, silently critiquing each slip of your footing, sends another wave of irritation coursing through you.

And yet… there’s something oddly reassuring about it too. As if her presence, no matter how frustrating, guarantees that someone will catch you if you fall. Not literally, of course, but the thought lingers, steadying you more than you’d care to admit.

You shift your weight carefully, reaching for the next branch. The satchel presses against your back, its weight a constant reminder of your responsibility, and of the sharp eyes above you. You resist the urge to glance up briefly, focusing instead on the climb.

You move cautiously, gripping the bark tightly as you climb higher. The tree groans faintly under your weight, and you freeze, holding your breath. 

The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness of the night, a sharp contrast to the quiet hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a moment, you glance toward the kitchen window, half-expecting to see your mother’s silhouette appear, but the glow remains steady, undisturbed.

You grit your teeth, focusing on your balance, careful to distribute your weight evenly. Every move feels agonizingly slow, the need for silence making each step a deliberate act of precision.

As you near the branch that curves toward your window, you reach out with one hand, your fingers brushing the rough bark. It’s close, close enough that you can almost imagine the feel of the window frame beneath your palm. 

But as you shift your weight to make the final stretch, your foot slips against the trunk, the bark giving way beneath your boot.

Your stomach lurches as your balance wavers, your free hand scrabbling desperately for a hold. The satchel shifts sharply, throwing you further off balance, and for a terrifying moment, you’re certain you’ll fall. Your breath catches in your throat, panic blooming in your chest.

From her vantage point at the window, Agatha tenses instantly. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, she shifts forward slightly in a reflexive, almost involuntary motion, as if she could somehow close the unbridgeable distance and reach you. Concern flickers across her face as her hands grip the windowsill tightly, knuckles paling with the pressure.

But then your hand finds purchase, gripping a knot in the bark just in time to steady yourself. 

You hang there for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears, your body frozen as the satchel settles back into place. The rabbit stirs faintly inside, and you murmur a soft reassurance under your breath, though it’s as much for yourself as for the animal.

The faint creak of the tree subsides, and the night seems to hold its breath along with you. You force yourself to exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening as you steady your footing once more. Carefully, you reach out again, this time gripping the branch firmly before pulling yourself up onto it.

The window is finally within reach, a threshold to safety. 

As you glance up, Agatha is there, her figure sharp and still against the faint shadows of the room. She’s waiting, her presence a silent promise that the plan is almost complete. The sight steadies you and, for the first time since the climb began, relief flickers at the edges of your thoughts, fragile but real.

As you near the window, Agatha leans out further, her gaze flicking to the satchel slung over your shoulder. She lifts a hand, gesturing for it with a slight wave of her fingers, her expression calm and maddeningly smug.

You pause, blinking at her. 

“Really?” you mutter under your breath, incredulity practically dripping from your tone. 

She tilts her head slightly, arching a single brow, her smugness somehow amplifying as she gestures again, clearly waiting.

For a moment, you consider ignoring her, but then you glance at the satchel. She has a point, giving her the bag would mean the rabbit is safer, and, without the extra weight on your back, you’ll have an easier time pulling yourself through the window.

With a dramatic sigh, you shrug the satchel off your shoulder, the strap sliding down your arm before you lift it toward her. She stretches downward, her fingers brushing the edge of the leather before she grips it firmly and pulls it from your grasp. 

For a moment, you watch her, half expecting her to disappear entirely now that the bag is secure in her hands.

And that’s exactly what she does. Agatha retreats, vanishing from the window’s edge with the satchel in tow. You roll your eyes, your mind instantly jumping to the conclusion that she’s probably fussing over the rabbit. 

The thought irritates and amuses you in equal measure, but you shake your head and steady yourself for the final push. 

The ledge is close, and with the satchel gone, the climb feels marginally easier. You stretch your arms upward, gripping the edge of the window frame as you shift your weight onto the thick branch beneath you. 

Carefully, you pull yourself higher, your knees brushing the frame as you begin to hoist yourself inside.

For a moment, it seems like you’ve done it. Your body halfway through the window, balance steady enough to keep going.

And then your foot catches on the edge of the frame.

The jolt sends you stumbling forward, your grip slipping as the momentum drags you into a clumsy, uncontrolled tumble.

Agatha moves instantly, appearing as if out of nowhere, her reflexes instinctive and precise.

You barely register the sudden shift before her silhouette is in front of you. One of her hands darts out, gripping your arm with surprising strength, but it’s not enough to counter the force of your fall. Her other hand slides to your waist, firm and steady, trying to catch you, but the momentum is too much.

There’s no time for either of you to adjust. The pull of gravity drags you forward, and you both tumble into the room in a chaotic, ungraceful heap. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you land tangled together. 

Agatha is half-sprawled over you, her weight pinning you to the floor, grounding and overwhelming all at once. The world seems to fade, narrowing to the soft rustle of leaves in the night and the rhythm of her breathing. 

Her face is unbearably close, so close that her breath brushes against your cheek, warm and uneven. Untamed hair spilling over her shoulder and grazing your arm, strands scattered haphazardly from the fall.

There’s a stillness to her expression, but the faint parting of her lips reveals a hitch in her breathing, as though the shock of the tumble hasn’t fully left her.

Both of her hands remain where they caught you, one curled tightly around your arm, the other pressed firmly against your waist. The heat of her touch burns through the fabric of your dress, rooting you in place even as your pulse races wildly.

Those sharp blue eyes, piercing even in the dim light, are locked on yours. The intensity of her gaze makes your breath catch, as if she’s not only seeing through you but searching for something at the same time.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Your chest tightens and your pulse hammers in your ears as the space between you feels impossibly thin, a fragile thread stretched taut and trembling. 

And then, fleetingly - so quickly you almost think you imagined it - her gaze drops, flickering to your lips. The motion is so subtle, so brief, that it vanishes almost as soon as it happens. But the imprint of it remains, sharp and electric, making you shudder.

Your mind scrambles for something, anything, to say, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare back at her, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to make sense of the moment.

The silence stretches, thick and almost suffocating, until Agatha breaks it. Her voice is low, threaded with dry amusement but carrying an almost daring undertone that sets your nerves alight. 

“Are you always this dramatic,” she murmurs, “or am I just special?”

The words pull you out of your daze, and your cheeks burn instantly, the heat rushing to your face. 

“I— I didn’t—” you stammer, scrambling to find words, but every coherent thought scatters.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips twitching as if she’s about to say something else, but instead, she pushes herself up abruptly. 

The cool night air rushes in as her warmth leaves, and you’re left on the floor, heart still pounding in your ears.

She brushes off her skirts with deliberate ease, her expression once again smug and composed, though there’s a flicker of tension in her movements. She extends a hand to you, her sharp gaze watching you carefully.

“Come on, get up.” she whispers, her tone calm but firm. “Your mother might have heard that.”

You glare up at her, your pride stinging, but you take her hand anyway, letting her pull you to your feet. Her grip is firm, steady, and as she helps you up, her fingers linger just a second too long before she steps back.

The sensation is fleeting but familiar, a ghost of what had happened only hours earlier by the lake. She’d done the same after you healed her burns, offering her hand with that same deliberate calm, as though her touch carried no weight. But it had lingered then too, just like now, and the memory ignites a warm spark in your chest. 

As you rise to your feet, your balance feels oddly unsteady, not from the fall but from the moment itself. You linger there, caught between embarrassment and something heavier. Your fingers twitch at your sides, as though still feeling the echo of her grip, and your gaze follows her as she moves away.

She crosses the room, moving toward the satchel she’d placed on the floor earlier and crouching down. 

You turn toward the window, reaching for the frame to shut it. The cool night air still drifts into the room, carrying the faint scent of the garden below. Your fingers curl around the wood, and just as you push it closed, a sound freezes you in place.

A creak. Faint, but unmistakable.

Your heart stops, and you glance at Agatha, who has gone still beside the satchel, her hand hovering over the flap. Her sharp eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you breathes.

Another creak follows, heavier this time, accompanied by the low groan of the wooden stairs shifting.

Panic flashes between you in a silent exchange, the weight of the moment sinking in with brutal clarity. Agatha straightens slowly, her hand dropping from the satchel as her gaze darts toward the door.

Well, shit. Your mother definitely heard.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Coming Home | Sebastian Sallow x OC #22

After the emotional chaos of the last few chapters, I thought these two could use a softer moment. Let’s be honest, we all know evie will forgive seb because she's a hopeless simp—but don’t worry, he's still got some work left to do.

ALSO this is the last 100% complete chapter in my back log, so updates may be a lil slower moving forward while I revise/edit remaining chapters (sorryy!)💕

Summary: Evangeline visits Feldcroft after an uneasy end to term, reconnecting with Sebastian as he tries to rebuild her trust. Sebastian wrestles with his unspoken love for her while striving to prove he’s worthy of her faith.

Words: TBD I’m posting this from my phone so idk

Tags: Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Unspoken Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Reconciliation, Emotional Vulnerability, Domestic Fluff, Stargazing, Hand-Holding, Soft Confessions, Emotional Tension

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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The summer sun hung low in the sky, painting Feldcroft in golden hues as Sebastian paced the small square in the center of town. The Floo station stood a few feet away, its modest hearth crackling faintly as villagers went about their day, occasionally sparing him a curious glance. He was sure he looked ridiculous—too restless to stand still, his hands alternating between raking through his hair and stuffing themselves into his pockets. But he didn’t care.

It had been nearly two months since he’d seen her.

Their last real conversation had been at the Black Lake in early June, a raw, jagged thing where every word had felt like walking a tightrope over an abyss. They had barely spoken in the weeks that followed, the looming pressure of exams offering an easy excuse to avoid talking about anything of substance. And when summer vacation finally began, she’d been gone before he could even process it—off to stay with their friends, hopping from one house to the next in an attempt to avoid the Fallowmere orphanage.

Since then, Sebastian had spent the summer working tirelessly at the apothecary in Upper Hogsfield, the steady rhythm of brewing potions and stocking shelves providing a temporary reprieve from his restless mind. He tried to convince himself that the tentative bridge he and Evangeline built by the lake hadn’t collapsed under the weight of his guilt, and yet the memory of her tears haunted him. Far too many sleepless nights were spent staring at his bedroom ceiling, wondering if she regretted giving him even a sliver of her trust back.

But now she was here. Or she would be.

Sebastian’s gaze flicked to the Floo again, his heart thrumming with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. He could hardly believe he'd invited her; it wasn’t like they’d discussed it. But Sebastian had been reading over Ominis's shoulder during his last visit, and when she’d mentioned, almost offhandedly in her letter, that she hadn’t settled on where to go next, the words had tumbled out of Sebastian's mouth before he could stop them. Feldcroft. Tell her to come to Feldcroft.

And to his surprise—his absolute relief—she’d agreed.

He paused his pacing, glancing up as a flicker of green flames lit the hearth. A knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach, his hands clenching at his sides as he waited. When the fire roared to life and a figure stepped out, small trunk in hand, his breath caught.

She was here.

“Evie,” he said, his voice soft but steady, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She glanced up, her hazel eyes locking with his, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. There was a flicker of something unreadable in her expression—hesitation, maybe—but then her lips curved into a tentative smile.

“Hello, Sebastian.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to send a flood of relief coursing through him. He stepped forward, reaching for her trunk. “Let me—”

“I’ve got it,” she said quickly, gripping the handle tighter. Her voice was light, but he caught the faint edge of discomfort in it. She wasn’t ready for too much, not yet.

He nodded, taking a small step back to give her space. “Right. Well, welcome to Feldcroft. Again.” He winced at his own awkwardness, raking a hand through his hair. “I mean, you know the place already, but—”

She let out a quiet laugh, cutting off his rambling. “Thanks, Sebastian,” she said, her voice softer now, though the wariness hadn’t entirely left her eyes.

He smiled sheepishly, dropping his hand from his hair as a moment of silence stretched between them. Sebastian cleared his throat and gestured toward the path leading out of the square. “Right. Well, let’s get you settled.”

Evangeline adjusted her grip on the trunk and fell into step beside him. The village bustled around them in its unassuming way—shopkeepers chatting, children darting between carts, the occasional sheep wandering too close to the cobblestones before being herded back to the fields.

He stole a glance at her as they walked, her gaze drifting over the thatched roofs and blooming wildflowers that lined the path. Her expression was calm, though there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes—curiosity, maybe, or apprehension. He wasn’t sure.

“Still looks the same,” she said finally, her voice breaking the silence. “But it feels... different without the snow.”

Sebastian smiled faintly. “Yeah, it’s a tad busier in the summer. Kids running though the hills, and the fields are full of sheep instead of frost. A lot less tripping over snowdrifts too.”

Evangeline chuckled softly, the sound tugging at something deep in his chest. “That’s a shame. I remember you taking a rather spectacular tumble the last time we walked this way.”

His lips twitched in a grin. “Spectacular? I slipped once.”

“Twice,” she corrected with a small, teasing smile. “And you nearly took me down with you the second time.”

“Nearly,” he said, tilting his head as if considering. “But I didn’t, did I? I’d call that chivalry.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered on her face, softening her features in a way that made his heart clench. For a moment, the guarded edge she’d carried since stepping out of the Floo seemed to ease, and he found himself clinging to the sight, committing it to memory.

The path curved gently, and Sebastian’s cottage came into view against the backdrop of rolling hills. Suddenly, he felt his stomach twist as they neared, his eyes darting to every imperfection he hadn’t noticed—or had been ignoring—until this very moment.

The wildflowers around the front had grown unruly, spilling over the edges of the narrow stone path. A shutter hung slightly askew, the paint beginning to peel at the edges. And though he’d meant to fix the squeaky hinge on the front gate, it still creaked in protest as he pushed it open.

Evangeline’s gaze swept over the cottage, and Sebastian braced himself, feeling his apprehension build. He wanted her to see it as she had at Christmas—warm, inviting, a reflection of how much effort he’d put in to make it a home. But this wasn’t Christmas. This was summer, and everything felt too bright, too exposed.

“It’s a mess,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I meant to, uh… tidy up the garden. And fix the shutters. And—”

“Sebastian,” she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. He turned to look at her, finding her hazel eyes fixed on the cottage, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, to his surprise, a small, genuine smile curved her lips. “It’s lovely.”

“Lovely?” he echoed, skepticism laced in his tone. He glanced at the wildflowers falling across the path as if to make sure they were still there. ���You don’t have to be nice. I know it’s not—”

“I mean it,” she said, her smile widening slightly. “It looks…” She paused, her gaze softening as it swept over the uneven stones, the slightly crooked gate, and the wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. “Cozy."

She wasn’t lying; Sebastian could tell by the way her smile reached her eyes. Slowly, he let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re too kind.”

“I’m honest,” she replied lightly, brushing past him to open the front door.

When Evangeline stepped inside, her gaze swept over the familiar room, taking in every detail—the worn armchair by the hearth, the mismatched cushions, and the precariously stacked books that seemed to defy gravity. It all looked exactly as it had during her last visit.

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he watched her. She stood still, her fingers brushing absently over the back of the armchair, her gaze soft but distant. She let out a quiet, wistful sigh, and he realized she wasn’t just looking at the cottage—she was stepping back into a memory.

He wondered if her memories of this place felt anything like his. To him, having her back here was like slipping on a favorite jumper, something warm and comforting, worn just enough to feel like home. The time they’d spent together over Christmas had become a refuge in his mind, a place he returned to when the present felt too sharp, too uncertain. Those days had been simple and light, untouched by the jagged edges of regret and guilt.

Was it the same for her? Did she hold those moments as close as he did?

The question gnawed at him, and before he could stop himself—before he could second-guess the words—they slipped out, soft and unguarded.

“I missed you.”

The sound of his own voice startled him, and he saw her freeze, her fingers stilling against the armchair. For a heartbeat, the room felt impossibly still, the weight of his confession hanging in the air like something fragile and unspoken.

Sebastian opened his mouth, ready to backtrack, to brush it off as nothing more than a casual remark. But then Evangeline turned to look at him, her eyes locking onto his. Her gaze was steady, searching, as though she could see straight through the mask he so often wore, straight to the raw truth beneath.

Slowly, she let out a breath, the tension in her shoulders easing as her lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

“Me too,” she admitted quietly.

Sebastian’s chest tightened, the quiet honesty of her words hitting him like a spell cast point-blank. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—if he’d expected anything at all—but hearing her say it, admitting she’d felt the same ache he had, was more than he deserved. And yet, it made the small ember of hope in his chest burn just a little brighter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the quiet between them filling with all the things they couldn’t quite say. Then Sebastian pushed off the doorframe, clearing his throat. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes. To coming here, I mean.”

She tilted her head, studying him with that same perceptive gaze. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He let out a dry laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Because of me. Because of everything I—” He stopped, shaking his head as his throat tightened. “You’d have every reason not to.”

Evangeline looked at him for a long moment before letting out a soft laugh, “If I didn’t want to be here, Sebastian,” she said gently, “I wouldn’t have come.”

Her words settled over him like a balm, soothing the jagged edges of his nerves. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he gestured toward the narrow hallway. “I, uh, put clean sheets on your bed and cleared some room in the wardrobe for you."

Evangeline’s lips curved faintly, and she hefted her trunk with a small nod. “Thank you.”

Sebastian stepped aside, letting her pass as she moved down the narrow hallway. He followed a few paces behind, his hands sliding into his pockets as he watched her take in her surroundings.

When Evangeline stepped into the room, she paused, her hazel eyes sweeping over the space. It was small but inviting, the soft light from the evening sun filtering through the lacy curtains that fluttered faintly in the breeze. Her gaze settled on the bedside table, where a simple vase of wildflowers—delicate purples and whites—stood quietly against the rustic wooden surface.

She approached it, setting her trunk at the foot of the bed as her fingers brushed one of the petals. “You’ve been busy,” she murmured, her voice soft.

Sebastian lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he studied her reaction. “Figured it needed a bit of color,” he said, his shrug casual, though there was a hint of nerves in his tone. “Didn’t want you thinking I’ve forgotten how to be a decent host.”

Evangeline’s lips quirked into a small smile, her fingers still lightly tracing the petals. “Well,” she said, her voice adopting a teasing edge as she glanced at him over her shoulder, “back at Leander’s party, you did say you’d be getting me flowers. You know… to make me ‘fall in love with you.’”

Sebastian froze. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, her words hanging in the air like a challenge. The tips of his ears flushed a faint pink, and he cleared his throat, the ghost of a laugh escaping him as he leaned more heavily against the doorframe, crossing his arms as if to steady himself.

“Well,” he drawled, recovering quickly, his grin slow and slightly crooked, “I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

Evangeline turned fully to face him, her smile widening as she chuckled softly. “You certainly took your time.”

“Had to make sure they were perfect,” he shot back smoothly, gesturing toward the vase with a slight tilt of his head. “Only the best for you.”

There was a playful lilt to his voice, but his gaze lingered on her a fraction longer than it should have, the teasing replaced by something softer.

If Evangeline caught it, she didn't let on. Instead, she stepped closer to the vase, her smile fading into something quieter, more sincere. “They are perfect,” she said, her voice softer now. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

His smirk faltered, expression shifting into something gentler. For a moment, he just watched her, the gratitude in her voice settling somewhere deep in his chest. “You’re welcome,” he said.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was weighted, heavy with the things they hadn’t yet said. Sebastian shifted his stance, clearing his throat as he straightened. “Right, well... I’ll let you settle in. Dinner’s in a bit. Thought we could eat outside—it’s a nice evening.”

“That sounds lovely,” Evangeline replied, turning back to her trunk and busying herself with unpacking. “I’ll be out soon.”

Sebastian closed the door to her room quietly, leaning against the wall of the hallway for a moment as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She was here. Not just a fleeting letter or a hesitant conversation in passing, but here, in his home again.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to focus. Don’t mess this up, Sallow. The voice in his head wasn’t Ominis’s this time, but his own, sharp and unrelenting. She had every reason not to trust him, to keep him at arm’s length, and yet she’d chosen to come. That was something, wasn’t it?

Pushing off the wall, he headed for the kitchen, his thoughts spiraling as he pulled ingredients from the cupboards. He had planned ahead—more than he cared to admit—but now it all felt inadequate. The chicken he’d marinated earlier, the garden vegetables he’d picked that morning, the loaf of bread from the village baker—it was simple, too simple, wasn’t it?

He set the cutting board on the counter with more force than necessary, cursing under his breath. This isn’t a 5 star wizarding restaurant, you idiot. You don’t have to make it perfect. But the thought didn’t ease the tight knot in his chest.

Cooking had always been a way to keep his hands busy, his mind focused. When Anne had still been here, it had been his way of helping, of trying to make things easier for her when their lives had been anything but. She used to tease him for his attempts to recreate their mum’s recipes, but she’d always smiled when he succeeded. And when she didn’t smile... well, those nights had taught him to get better.

His hands moved automatically, peeling, slicing, seasoning. The rhythm of it settled something in him, though the nervous energy lingered just beneath the surface. Evangeline didn’t know this side of him, yet. She’d seen his recklessness, his impulsiveness, his sharp edges—but not this. This part of him was quieter, steadier. Softer, maybe.

Sebastian shook his head, letting out a dry laugh as he tossed the vegetables into a pan. Softer. That wasn’t the word he wanted her to associate with him. He wanted her to see him as strong, dependable, someone who could protect her. Someone she could trust again.

But the truth was, he wasn’t sure how she saw him now.

His gaze flicked to the door, half-expecting her to wander in. He could imagine her leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with that curious tilt of her head. She’d probably laugh at the idea of him cooking—Sebastian Sallow, who could duel circles around anyone in their year, standing over a pan of roasted vegetables.

The thought brought a faint smile to his lips, though it faded quickly as doubt crept back in. What if tonight wasn’t enough? What if she was only here because she didn’t want to say no? What if she was already counting the days until she left again?

Sebastian set the knife down with a frustrated sigh, gripping the edge of the counter as his head dropped forward. Stop overthinking it. He’d promised her he’d prove himself, and that’s exactly what he was going to do—one small moment at a time, if that’s what it took.

The chicken came out of the oven, the bread onto a board, the vegetables plated with precision that bordered on obsessive. He worked in silence, letting the familiar motions ground him, until the table outside was set, the food arranged neatly in the center.

He stood back for a moment, wiping his hands on his trousers as he surveyed his work. The whole scene was… inviting. Not perfect, but good enough. He hoped.

Sebastian turned toward the cottage just as he heard the soft creak of the door opening. His heart skipped when he saw Evangeline step out. She had changed into something more comfortable—a light, flowy dress that he’d never seen her wear before. The fabric moved softly with the evening breeze, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring.

She was still the Evie he’d known for years—familiar in every way that mattered—but in the two months they’d been apart, it was as if something had shifted. He couldn’t put it into words—wasn’t even sure if he wanted to try—but the girl he’d known, the one he’d teased and laughed with and leaned on, had somehow become a woman. A breathtakingly beautiful one.

His gaze trailed over her full figure, taking in the way the dress skimmed her plush hips and accentuated her soft shape. Her shoulders, bare beneath the thin straps, caught the last light of the sun, and he couldn’t help but notice the delicate curve of her collarbone, the way it led to her neckline.

There was a quiet maturity in the way she carried herself now, an unspoken grace that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t just her body—though Merlin knew his eyes kept flickering to her hips and her waist and her chest—it was everything about her. She was radiant.

Sebastian’s mouth went dry when she glanced at him, her hazel eyes soft and curious. She caught him staring, and for a split second, he thought about looking away, but he couldn’t. The way she tilted her head, the faint smile that played at her lips—it was like she was seeing straight through him.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

Sebastian blinked, his heart stuttering as he scrambled for something to say. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look anywhere but at her. “Just… making sure everything’s ready.”

She smiled, stepping closer to the table and glancing at the spread he’d laid out. “This looks incredible,” she said, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as she looked back at him. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

Sebastian tried to play it off, shrugging as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I mean, I didn't want you to think I invited you here just to starve you."

Evangeline let out a soft laugh, the sound like a balm to Sebastian’s nerves. “Well, I appreciate it. It smells amazing,” she said, her gaze lingering on the table before flicking back to him. “I think I might actually be impressed, Sebastian.”

“Careful,” he teased, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t go raising your expectations too high. I’m not trying to set a precedent here.”

She smirked, “I think it’s a little late for that. Between this and the flowers, you might actually convince me you’re good at this whole hosting thing.”

Sebastian’s grin faltered slightly as her words settled over him. He wanted her to feel welcome, to feel cared for, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in her tone that reminded him just how much had changed between them. He didn’t want this to feel like some elaborate performance to win her back—he wanted it to feel real. Genuine. Like it had always been.

“Well, don’t go telling anyone,” he said lightly, “Can’t have the word getting out that I’ve gone soft.”

Evangeline chuckled again as she sat down, smoothing her dress over her lap. Her gaze swept over the spread, her hazel eyes softening as she took it all in. “This... is really wonderful,” she said quietly.

Sebastian’s chest tightened at her words, the sincerity in her voice catching him off guard. He forced himself to sit down across from her, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his napkin as he tried to find something to say.

She took her first bite, her eyes widening slightly as the flavors hit her tongue. “Okay, I take it back,” she said, her voice tinged with playful awe. “This is more than impressive. This is… really good.”

Sebastian relaxed a little, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Years of practice,” he admitted. “Anne had her favorites, and I got tired of hearing her complain when I burned something. Figured I’d better learn to do it properly.”

Evangeline’s smile softened, a flicker of something warmer passing through her eyes. “That’s… sweet,” she said, her voice quieter now. "Guess you're still full of surprises."

Sebastian felt his grin waver for a moment, her words hitting a place in his chest that made his heart ache and swell all at once. Surprises. He wasn’t sure if she meant it as a compliment or an observation, but the way she said it—soft, almost thoughtful—made him want to be better, to live up to whatever faint glimmer of hope she still saw in him.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the edge of the table, “stick around, and I might just have a few more up my sleeve.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the clinking of cutlery and the distant hum of crickets filling the air. The sun sank lower on the horizon, casting the garden in a dusky orange glow, and Sebastian found himself stealing glances at her as they ate. She looked relaxed, her shoulders no longer tight with unease, and it made him wonder if, maybe, he’d done something right for once.

“You must miss her,” Evangeline said suddenly, breaking the quiet. Her voice was soft, tentative, as if she wasn’t sure she should have said it.

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t need to ask who she meant. His throat tightened, and he set his fork down slowly, his gaze dropping to his plate. “Every day,” he admitted, his voice low.

Evangeline’s expression softened, her hand stilling where it had been tracing the rim of her glass. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head as he looked back at her. “It’s fine. Really. I… I like talking about her. Sometimes I think it’s the only way to keep her close, you know?”

She nodded, her hazel eyes steady on his, and for a moment, he thought she might say something more. Instead, she reached for her glass, taking a small sip before setting it down again.

“You know,” Sebastian said after a moment, his tone lighter now, “she used to say I was hopeless. Always burning things or forgetting ingredients.” He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She had this way of looking at me like I was the world’s biggest idiot, but then she’d sit there and eat every bite anyway.”

Evangeline smiled, a quiet laugh escaping her. “That sounds about right,” she said, her voice soft and warm. Then she paused, her expression turning thoughtful as she toyed with the edge of her napkin.

“In her last letter,” she began carefully, her gaze flicking up to meet his, “She said her pain trials at St. Mungo’s are going really well.”

Sebastian froze, his fork hovering mid-air as her words sank in. He placed it down slowly, his fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. “She did?” he asked, his voice quiet but threaded with cautious hope.

Evangeline nodded, her hazel eyes watching him closely. “She... she wrote that the pain isn’t as constant as it used to be. She’s sleeping better. Even managing some light activities without too much discomfort.”

Sebastian let out a shaky breath as the knot in his chest began to loosen. He pressed a hand to his forehead, his mind racing. “That’s… that’s amazing,” he murmured, his voice almost disbelieving.

Evangeline hesitated before speaking again, her voice gentler this time. “She mentioned you, too.”

Sebastian’s head shot up, his brown eyes widening. “She did?”

“She said…” Evangeline paused, choosing her words carefully. “She said she misses you. She wanted me to tell you."

Sebastian froze, his breath catching in his throat. The words hung in the air, heavy and disarming, as if they didn’t belong to the reality he’d been living in for the past year. His brown eyes searched Evangeline’s face, desperate to confirm she wasn’t just saying it to make him feel better.

“She… she really said that?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Evangeline nodded, her expression steady but soft, as though she knew how much weight her words carried. “She did. It wasn’t easy for her to admit, I think. But it was there, in her letter—clear as day. I'll let you read it when we're back inside."

Sebastian sat back in his chair, staring at Evangeline as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. His fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, as the words swirled in his mind. She misses you. He couldn’t reconcile it, not with everything that had happened, not with the way he’d all but destroyed the connection he and Anne once had.

“You’d really let me read it?” he asked finally, his voice quiet, almost cautious. His gaze searched hers for any sign of hesitation, but Evangeline’s expression was unwavering.

She nodded. “Of course. I know how much she means to you, Sebastian.”

The tightness in his chest shifted, replaced by something fragile and warm, like a thread of hope pulling taut. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to steady his voice. “I—thank you. Really.”

Evangeline offered him a small smile, her fingers idly smoothing the edge of the napkin in her lap. “I think she’s starting to come around,” she said gently. “She’s still angry, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten you. And… she wants you to know that.”

Sebastian let out a long as his gaze wandered upward, settling on the faint stars beginning to peek through the dusky sky. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel the faint flicker of hope Evangeline’s words had ignited. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to steady him.

The silence lingered, warm and comfortable, until he glanced back at her. Evie's expression was thoughtful as she toyed with the edge of her napkin, her hazel eyes catching the fading light of the evening. He felt a smile tug at his lips before he realized it.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, “you’ve been all over this summer. Hopping from one friend’s house to another. What’s it like, being so popular?”

Evangeline’s head tilted, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Popular? Hardly,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “It was more… opportunistic.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I just didn’t want to go back to Fallowmere, and everyone kept offering. Natty, Nellie, even Imelda."

“Imelda?” Sebastian said, his brows shooting up. “You stayed with Reyes? Let me guess, she made you listen to endless recaps of her Quidditch matches?”

“Endless,” Evangeline confirmed with a grin.

Sebastian snorted, shaking his head. “You’re lucky she didn’t make you do drills in her garden.”

“She tried,” Evangeline admitted, her smile widening. “But no, it was good staying with her. Busy, loud… exactly what I needed after everything.”

Sebastian’s smile softened as he watched her, his gaze lingering. “And what about Natty?” he asked. “I imagine staying with her was more… structured.”

E Evangeline nodded, her expression softening as a faraway look crept into her eyes. “It was. Her mum was very welcoming, though. And Natty—she’s just so good at making you feel at home. We spent a lot of time walking and talking. She’s… wise in ways I’ll never be.”

Sebastian hummed absently, though his stomach churned at the memory of Natsai Onai and the “conversation” they’d had just before the end of last term. His mind wandered briefly to the library, where she’d found him loitering behind a towering shelf, clearly trying to avoid her.

She hadn’t given him a choice.

With a startling amount of strength for her petite frame, Natty had grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out to the courtyard before he could even protest. Her calm exterior had been more terrifying than if she’d been shouting. The tension in her jaw, the barely contained fire in her eyes—Sebastian had faced curses and duels, but nothing had prepared him for that.

She hadn’t raised her voice once.

Instead, she’d quietly and methodically eviscerated him, her words hitting harder than any spell could have. Her disappointment in him, her anger at his behavior at Leander’s party—particularly how it had hurt Evangeline—was laid bare in brutal clarity.

“You are supposed to be her friend, Sebastian,” she’d said, her voice like ice. “Instead, you chose to act selfishly, carelessly, and worse—publicly humiliate her.”

By the end of it, he’d felt small, like a first-year caught cheating in Charms. Natty hadn’t demanded an apology; she’d merely stared him down until he’d stammered out something resembling contrition. Even now, the memory made him want to crawl under a rock.

Sebastian shook the thought off and forced himself to meet Evangeline’s gaze again. “Yeah, Natty’s… definitely wise,” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his shirt as if he could still feel her iron grip. He quickly changed the subject, “And what about Nellie? Please tell me you didn’t let her rope you into one of her… experiments.”

Evangeline groaned, rolling her eyes. “She tried. Merlin, did she try. Something about levitating candles for hours so she could prove they lasted longer than regular ones.”

Sebastian laughed again, shaking his head. “Classic Nellie.”

“She’s brilliant,” Evangeline admitted, her tone warm. “A little chaotic, but brilliant. It was fun, though. Her family is so… big and warm. A little overwhelming at times, but in a good way.”

“And now you’re here,” Sebastian said, his tone quieter now. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he met her gaze. “What’s that like?”

Evangeline’s hazel eyes flickered with something he couldn’t quite name. “It’s…” she hesitated, her gaze drifting past him for a moment as if she were searching for the right words. Then, finally, she drew a quiet breath and looked back at him. "It's like coming home."

Sebastian’s breath caught at her words, his chest tightening in a way that was both unexpected and painfully familiar. Home. The word hung in the air between them, impossibly heavy and impossibly soft, carrying more weight than she probably realized. Or maybe she did. Maybe that was why she’d hesitated before saying it.

Evangeline’s hazel eyes met his, steady but tinged with something vulnerable, as if she wasn’t sure how he would respond. She had never admitted something like this before—not to him, not to anyone. She’d grown up in a place that was safe at best and cold at worst, the kind of place that housed you but never embraced you. The kind of place that made you wonder if home was a real thing, or just something other people got to have.

And now she was sitting here, across from him, calling this—his home—hers, too.

Sebastian leaned back slightly, his forearms slipping from the edge of the table as he let the words sink in. The crackle of crickets in the garden and the faint rustle of the breeze filled the quiet, but he barely noticed.

“I…” He cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. "Well... you'll always have a home here, Evie."

For a moment, her eyes flickered, and he thought he saw the beginnings of something tender in her gaze, something raw and unspoken. But then, as though suddenly realizing what she’d admitted, she shifted, her walls snapping back into place. He recognized the faint tension in her shoulders, the way she straightened just slightly, as though bracing herself.

She glanced down at her empty plate and began to gather it up, her movements quick and efficient. “Well it's getting dark... we should clean this up,” she said lightly, as if they hadn’t just shared a moment that would be carved into his memory for years to come.

Sebastian didn’t press. He knew better than to push when she wasn’t ready, and truthfully, he wasn’t discouraged. Everything that had happened so far—the way she’d smiled, the quiet sincerity of her words, the fact that she was here at all—was more than he’d dared to hope for.

He stood, grabbing the remaining plates and following her inside. And without speaking, they fell into step with each other, moving around the small kitchen like two pieces of a puzzle that still fit perfectly together.

Evangeline started rinsing the plates while Sebastian fetched the dishcloth and a drying rack. It was a rhythm they had built months ago, during those quiet days over Christmas, and falling back into it now felt as natural as breathing. Neither of them commented on it, but he caught the faintest curve of her lips as she handed him a plate to dry.

The soft clink of dishes and the gentle rush of water filled the silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt… right. Like all the tension and uncertainty of the past few months had been stripped away.

Sebastian couldn’t help stealing glances at her as they worked. The way the soft glow of the lamplight played across her face, the way her lashes cast delicate shadows against her cheeks. She didn’t look at him, but her posture had relaxed again, and he took that as a small victory.

When the last dish was dried and set neatly on the rack, Evangeline wiped her hands on a towel and turned to him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Not bad,” she said, her voice light. “I’d forgotten how efficient we are.”

Sebastian grinned, leaning against the counter. “Yeah," he stretched out the word, "Though I’d argue I did most of the heavy lifting.”

Evangeline raised a brow, her smile turning teasing. “Oh, absolutely. Drying dishes is the pinnacle of effort.”

“Someone has to do it,” he replied with a shrug.

She chuckled, shaking her head as she hung the towel neatly on the hook by the sink. “Well, I think we’ve earned some time to relax.”

Sebastian nodded, pushing off the counter as they both headed down the hall. Without even discussing it, they each retreated to their respective rooms to change, another echo of the easy routine they’d built during her last visit.

When Sebastian emerged a few minutes later, now in an old T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, he found Evangeline already curled up on the sofa, a book in hand.

She seemed entirely absorbed, her hazel eyes scanning the page with quiet focus, but the corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly as if she were reading something amusing.

He paused in the doorway for a moment, the sight of her stirring something warm and bittersweet in his chest. It was like stepping back into one of those evenings over Christmas, the two of them sharing the same space with an ease that had felt almost too good to last. And yet, here they were.

Clearing his throat softly, Sebastian stepped further into the room. “You know, you could've raided my bookshelves if you wanted something more exciting.”

Evangeline looked up, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile. “And what would you suggest, Hogwarts: A History? Or maybe something on dueling techniques?” She gestured to the book in her hand. “This, for your information, is plenty exciting.”

Sebastian tilted his head, squinting at the cover. "Mansfield Park?"

Evangeline’s teasing smile widened as she raised the book slightly, tilting it for him to see. "It’s really good."

Sebastian snorted, stepping closer to drop onto the other end of the sofa. "Another Jane Austen book, eh? You always go for stories with so much pining and repressed feelings.”

Evangeline laughed softly, closing the book just enough to mark her place with her finger. “And what exactly is wrong with pining and repressed feelings?” she asked, her tone light but tinged with curiosity.

Sebastian leaned back, propping his feet up on the worn coffee table. “It’s frustrating,” he said with a sigh. “All that build-up, all those stolen glances, and then half the time, they don’t even end up saying what they really feel until the last page. Feels like torture.”

Evangeline arched a brow, her teasing smile softening. “You’d prefer something more straightforward, then? What—two characters meet, confess their feelings in the first chapter, and spend the rest of the book being sickeningly happy?”

Sebastian shrugged, crossing his arms behind his head. “Wouldn’t hurt to cut out all the unnecessary drama. Saves everyone some trouble.”

“Unnecessary drama,” Evangeline echoed, her tone dry but amused. She leaned back against the sofa, angling her body slightly toward him. “Coming from you, that’s rich.”

He gave her a pointed look, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. "I’ve seen you turn a stubbed toe into a near-death experience.”

Sebastian scoffed, sitting up a little straighter. “That was one time. And for the record, it wasn’t a stubbed toe—it was a fractured toe.”

Evangeline laughed, the sound light and melodic, filling the room like warmth spreading through the space. “Sure it was,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “And I suppose the world nearly ended because of it?”

“Nearly,” he said, smirking now. “But luckily, I’m resilient. A survivor, really.”

She smirked but didn’t respond, her focus returning to the book in her hands. For a moment, the only sounds were the faint crackle of the hearth and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Sebastian’s gaze drifted over her, watching the way her fingers absentmindedly turned the pages, her posture relaxing as she became engrossed again.

Finally, curiosity got the better of him. “Alright,” he said, leaning forward and nodding at the book. “What’s all the fuss about?”

Evangeline looked up, arching a brow. “Fuss?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said, gesturing lazily. “This book—What’s so great about it?”

She laughed, tucking her legs beneath her. “You wouldn't get it.”

“Try me,” he said, smirking.

Evangeline hesitated, her hazel eyes narrowing as if she were trying to gauge whether or not he was being serious. Then, with an air of exasperation, she held the book out to him. “Fine. But you’d better not make fun of it.”

Sebastian took the book with a dramatic flourish, flipping through the pages with exaggerated curiosity. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m going to give this the reverence it deserves.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes but smiled. “Start where I left off—it’s marked.”

He found the spot and settled back, clearing his throat with an overly formal air. “Alright, let’s see… had Sir Thomas applied to his daughter within the first three or four days after Henry Crawford's leaving Mansfield, before her feelings were at all tranquilised, before she had given up every hope of him, or absolutely resolved on enduring his rival, her answer might have been different."

Sebastian stopped, lifting his gaze from the page with a bemused expression. "Alright, I already need context. Who’s Sir Thomas, and why does this Henry bloke have a rival? Is this another love triangle?”

Evangeline laughed softly, shaking her head. “Just keep reading."

Sebastian sighed dramatically but returned to the page. "Her answer might have been different; but, after another three days, when there was no longer anything new to agitate her spirits…” He paused, squinting at the sentence. “And her thoughts became quietly fixed on the father and the son, their merits and their situations…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Is she deciding between Henry and Edmund? Are they both in love with her?”

Evangeline sighed, though there was a trace of amusement in her expression. “It’s not as simple as that. Fanny’s loved Edmund all along, but Henry—well, he’s charming, but she doesn’t trust him.”

Sebastian tilted his head, processing her explanation. “So, Edmund’s the good guy, but he’s oblivious? And Henry’s the one stirring up trouble?”

“Exactly,” she said, her smile widening. “See? You’re getting the hang of it. Now go on." he urged, settling more deeply into the sofa, her head resting against the cushion.

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh but obliged, turning the page and letting the story unfold. Time slipped by unnoticed, the words spilling effortlessly from his lips as Evangeline listened, her body sinking deeper into the cushions.

When he finally paused, his throat dry, he glanced down at her again. Her breathing was slow and even, and her head had tilted slightly to the side, her expression serene. For a moment, he wondered if she’d fallen asleep, the sight tugging something warm and fragile in his chest.

“Evie?” he asked softly.

She hummed, her eyes fluttering open but staying half-lidded. “Still here,” she mumbled, her voice drowsy.

Sebastian grinned, setting the book down beside him. “You’re dangerously close to making me think you like this.”

Evangeline chuckled sleepily, stretching her legs out. “I might be reconsidering your talents.”

Her eyes fluttered closed again as she nestled deeper into the cushions. A faint smile played at her lips, and for a moment, Sebastian thought she might have drifted off entirely.

But when he murmured some joke about his reading being the only reason she enjoyed his company, she hummed in response. Then, in a voice so soft it was barely above a whisper, she said, “I’ve always enjoyed your company.”

Sebastian’s breath caught, his smirk faltering as her words settled over him. She didn’t open her eyes, didn’t look at him—like the admission had slipped past her usual defenses in the haze of her exhaustion. And yet, it hit him squarely in the chest, a quiet, unexpected truth that left him momentarily speechless.

He turned his gaze toward the hearth, the faint glow of the fire casting warm shadows across the room. The silence stretched between them, comfortable and fragile all at once, until Evangeline’s breathing evened out completely.

She was asleep.

Sebastian let out a soft, wry laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he glanced back at her. Her head had tilted to rest against the arm of the sofa, her dark hair spilling over the cushion like a curtain. She looked peaceful, more relaxed than he’d seen her in months, and the sight stirred something deep and unshakable in him.

Careful not to wake her, he reached for the knitted throw draped over the back of the sofa, unfolding it quietly. He hesitated for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, before draping it gently over her. His fingers lingered on the edge of the blanket, the temptation to brush a strand of hair from her face almost overwhelming.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he leaned back again, his head tipping against the worn cushion as he let out a slow breath. He knew full well he’d regret it come morning—the stiff ache in his neck was already a foregone conclusion—but the thought of moving, of leaving this moment, felt impossible.

Evangeline was here, just an arm’s length away, her breathing soft and steady as she dozed. The fire in the hearth crackled faintly, its glow flickering across her face, and Sebastian was utterly transfixed. Her features, so familiar yet somehow softer in sleep, stirred a strange ache in his chest—warm and tender and just a little bit painful.

He’d spent so many nights before her arrival imagining this moment, but none of his idle dreams had come close to the reality. The way her hair fell in loose waves across the cushion, the faint curve of her lips, the quiet trust in the way she’d allowed herself to fall asleep here—it all felt so achingly precious that he was half-convinced he’d wake up and find it gone.

He knew he didn’t deserve this—not yet. After everything he’d done, everything he’d put her through, the fact that she was here at all was nothing short of a miracle.

And yet, here she was. And Merlin, she was beautiful.

Sebastian’s lips quirked into a faint, rueful smile as he let out a soft chuckle under his breath. “Hopeless,” he muttered to himself, the word barely audible over the faint crackle of the fire. That’s what he was—utterly, irredeemably hopeless when it came to her.

The fire began to dim, the warm glow fading into soft embers, and the room grew quieter, the shadows stretching longer across the walls. His head tilted slightly to the side, his body settling deeper into the cushions as sleep began to claim him. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sebastian Sallow dreamed of nothing but warmth and home.

~

The first thing Sebastian noticed when he woke was the stiffness in his neck. The second thing he noticed was the blanket draped over him.

He frowned, blinking groggily as his fingers brushed the soft fabric. It was the same throw he’d used to cover Evangeline last night. He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face as he pieced it together. She must have woken up at some point, seen him sprawled here like an idiot, and decided to return the favor.

His lips twitched into a faint smile as he let his head fall back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling for a moment. He wasn’t sure how it was possible to feel so content and so ridiculous at the same time.

The sound of soft humming drifted from the kitchen, light and melodic, pulled him out of his thoughts. He sat up slowly, the blanket slipping from his shoulders as his curiosity piqued. Evangeline’s voice—it was unmistakable, though she wasn’t exactly singing. It was more absentminded, a gentle tune that seemed to have no real path.

He rubbed the last remnants of sleep from his eyes before glancing toward the kitchen. And then he froze.

Evangeline was standing by the counter, the kettle steaming gently as she reached for a tin of tea leaves. Her back was to him, her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, and she was barefoot on the wooden floor.

And that’s when Sebastian realized.

She wasn’t wearing the pajama bottoms she’d worn last night. Nor the same top. In fact, the shirt she had on looked suspiciously like one of his own. It hugged her shoulders but hung loosely everywhere else, just barely covered her. The hem swayed as she shifted her weight, exposing far more of her thighs than Sebastian had ever seen.

He swallowed hard, heat rushing to his face as his gaze darted away. His heart gave a sharp, startled thud against his ribs, and he clenched his jaw, trying to steady himself. Merlin’s beard, Sallow, pull yourself together.

But his eyes betrayed him, flickering back to her as she continued humming, blissfully unaware of his presence. He’d seen her in a hundred different moments—storming into battle without hesitation, laughing with friends, leaning over a potion station with that focused furrow of her brow—but this was different. This was… intimate.

There was something so effortlessly domestic about the scene—her moving around his kitchen, preparing tea as if she belonged there—that it left him stunned.

Then she turned slightly, reaching for a mug, and the motion made the hem of her shirt ride up just a fraction higher, and Sebastian’s heart pounded as he caught the faintest glimpse of her face. Panic surged through him. Maybe I’m not supposed to see this. Maybe she doesn’t realize I’m awake.

Without thinking, he slumped back against the cushions and let his head fall to the side, squeezing his eyes shut in a hasty attempt to feign sleep. The blanket still draped across his lap helped sell the image, though he cursed inwardly at how unnatural his breathing suddenly felt.

The sound of her soft humming stopped, and he held his breath, listening to her movements as she shuffled in the kitchen. A cupboard opened, then closed. Liquid poured into a mug. Then another. The soft clink of a teaspoon stirring followed, each sound louder against the quiet morning air.

Sebastian willed himself not to peek, but it took every ounce of restraint he had. He wasn’t sure why this moment felt so precarious, so fragile. Maybe it was because she looked so unguarded, so at ease, and the thought of disrupting that made something tighten in his chest.

He heard her footsteps—barely more than a soft padding on the wooden floor—drawing closer. Is she…?

Then they paused, and for a moment, he wondered if she’d caught him. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he fought to keep his breaths slow and even.

“You’re such a liar,” Evangeline’s voice broke the silence, light and teasing. “I know you’re awake, Sebastian.”

His eyes flew open, heat flooding his face as he turned to look at her. She stood just a few feet away, a mug in her hands, one eyebrow arched in amusement. The corners of her mouth twitched in a knowing smile, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Merlin’s sake, how did you know?”

Evangeline’s smile widened as she shrugged. “You were doing that thing where you breathe like you’re auditioning to play dead. It’s not very convincing.”

Sebastian let out a laugh despite himself, sitting up fully and rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. Guilty as charged.” His gaze flickered to the mug in her hands, eager to latch onto any distraction. “Is that tea for me, or…?”

“It could be,” she said, her tone playfully ambiguous. “If you’re nice.”

He smirked, pushing himself to sit upright, “Nice? I’m always nice.”

Evangeline tilted her head, her gaze meeting his with a skeptical expression. “Sure you are,” she said lightly, holding the mug out to him.

Their fingers brushed as he took it, and for a moment, the teasing between them faded, replaced by a quiet warmth. Sebastian swallowed, his grip tightening on the mug as he forced himself to focus on something—anything—other than the shockingly naked expanse of her legs and the fact that she was definitely wearing one of his shirts.

“Thanks,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual edge of sarcasm.

Evangeline smiled, her gaze flickering away briefly before she stepped back toward the kitchen to retrieve her own mug. “I figured you could use it. The way you were sleeping looked... uncomfortable.”

“It was,” Sebastian admitted, rising from the couch and following her to the counter. “But, you know, worth it. For the company.” He leaned against the counter, watching as she moved about with easy confidence, still barefoot, still wearing that damn shirt that sent his thoughts spiraling if he looked for too long.

She shot him a look over her shoulder, her smile softening. “You didn’t have to stay out here, you know. You could’ve gone to bed.”

He shrugged, taking a sip of tea to buy himself a moment. “Didn’t feel right, leaving you out here on your own.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, "Learning from past mistakes, are we?"

Sebastian winced as though she'd pushed on a fresh bruise. His grip on the mug tightened, his shoulders stiffening as guilt bubbled to the surface.

“Evie,” he started, his voice low, but she cut him off.

“Relax,” she said, turning her back to him as she busied herself with tidying the counter. “It’s just a joke.” Then, without looking back at him, she added lightly, “Guess there weren’t any girls around this time for you to leave me for.”

Her words were casual, almost flippant, but they cut through him like a blade. Sebastian froze, his grip on the mug tightening until his knuckles turned white. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Because he certainly deserved that.

Evangeline didn’t wait for an answer. She grabbed her mug and took a quick sip, her posture too relaxed to be genuine. “I should get dressed,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Don’t want to scandalize the sheep.”

The joke was so absurd, so pointedly deflective, that Sebastian might have laughed if he hadn’t been stuck between frustration and guilt. Instead, he watched as she padded toward the hallway, her bare legs carrying her out of sight before he could gather his thoughts enough to respond.

The sound of her bedroom door clicking shut echoed faintly in the quiet kitchen. Sebastian exhaled shakily, setting his mug down on the counter with more force than necessary. He braced his hands against the edge of the counter, his head hanging as he closed his eyes and let out a slow, measured breath.

You deserve this, he reminded himself. Every barb, every joke, every hesitant glance. He’d shattered her trust, and he had no right to expect forgiveness, much less an easy path to earning it back.

But she was here. Somehow, against all odds, she was here.

He lifted his head, glancing toward the hallway where her door remained firmly shut. The fact that she’d said yes, that she’d come here despite everything—despite him—was more than he deserved.

There was no room for self-pity, no space for sulking. He’d made a mess of things, and he was damn well going to fix it. Slowly, one moment at a time, until she could look at him without that flicker of doubt in her hazel eyes.

~

The sun was high in the sky when they arrived in Upper Hogsfield, the small village bustling with quiet activity. Sebastian glanced over at Evangeline, who was taking in the sights with curiosity, her earlier sharpness replaced by an easy calm. She had changed into a tailored blouse with lace details, and a floor-length skirt with subtle pleats; a wide-brimmed summer hat was perched on her head. The tension from the morning seemed to have eased, though he could still see traces of it in the way she kept a slight distance between them.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, falling into step beside her as they wandered down the main street. “It’s not much,” he said, gesturing to the modest shops and cottages lining the road. “But it’s been keeping me busy.”

Evangeline turned to him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Busy is good,” she said lightly. “Better than brooding, I suppose.”

He smirked, the comment drawing a quiet chuckle from him.

They passed a group of children playing by the well, their laughter filling the warm afternoon air. Evangeline watched them with a soft expression before turning back to Sebastian. “So, where exactly have you been working?”

Sebastian tilted his head toward the apothecary at the far end of the village. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

The shop was small but inviting, its windows filled with neatly labeled jars and bundles of dried herbs. Sebastian pushed the door open, the bell above it chiming softly as they stepped inside. The familiar scent of potion ingredients—earthy, sharp, and faintly sweet—greeted them, and Sebastian felt a faint sense of pride as he glanced around the tidy shelves.

“Sebastian!” a cheerful voice called from behind the counter. An older witch with streaks of silver in her dark hair emerged from the back room, her face lighting up when she saw him. “And you’ve brought a guest, I see.”

Evangeline gave a polite smile, stepping forward slightly. “I’m Evangeline,” she said, her tone warm but measured.

The woman’s sharp eyes flicked between them, her smile widening knowingly. “Pleasure to meet you, my dear. I’m Rosalie, I’ve been keeping this one in line all summer.” She winked at Sebastian, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Sebastian said, leaning against the counter. “She’s the one who’s been keeping me sane. Barely.”

Rosalie laughed, waving a hand at him. “Oh, nonsense. You’ve been a fine worker. A bit clumsy with the scales at first, but you’ve got a good head for brewing.” She turned her attention back to Evangeline, her smile softening. “He’s been talking about you for weeks, you know.”

Sebastian froze, heat rushing to his face as he shot his boss a warning look. “Rosalie—”

“What?” she said innocently, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “It’s true.”

Evangeline glanced at Sebastian, her expression unreadable, before turning back to Rosalie with a faint smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Sebastian cleared his throat, desperate to steer the conversation back on track. “Anyway, this is where I’ve been spending most of my time,” he said, gesturing around the shop.

Evangeline wandered over to one of the shelves, her fingers lightly brushing the polished wood as she inspected the rows of neatly labeled jars. “It’s nice,” she said softly, her gaze trailing over the array of potion ingredients. “Quieter than J. Pippins, I imagine.”

Sebastian chuckled, stepping beside her. “A bit. No duels breaking out in the street outside, at least.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, though she didn’t look at him. “Must be a change of pace for you.”

He tilted his head, watching her as she continued perusing the shelves. “It’s not so bad. Keeps me out of trouble.”

Evangeline raised an eyebrow, finally glancing his way. “Trouble? You? Never.”

Before he could respond, Rosalie called from behind the counter. “Evangeline, dear, you must try the salves Sebastian’s been working on. He’s got a knack for them—his bruise balm works wonders.”

Evangeline turned, raising an eyebrow at Sebastian. “A bruise balm? Sounds useful.”

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “It’s nothing fancy. Just a simple recipe. But Rosalie insists on testing it on every scrape and bump anyone brings through the door.”

“Because it works,” Rosalie interjected, crossing her arms with a satisfied grin. “He’s underselling himself, as usual.”

Evangeline smirked, stepping closer to the counter. “I am curious to see this supposed brilliance for myself.”

Rosalie chuckled, reaching under the counter to pull out a small tin. “Here you go, dear. Take it—it’s on the house.”

Evangeline accepted the small tin, turning it over in her hands before stashing it in one of the shopping bags she’d acquired earlier. “Thanks,” she said softly, her tone unusually gentle. “I’ll be sure to put it to good use.”

Sebastian smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “Try not to go out of your way to injure yourself just to test it.”

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with mischief. “No promises. If it’s as good as Rosalie says, I might need to give it a proper trial.”

Rosalie laughed, shaking her head as she bustled back toward the shelves. “I’d trust this one with my life when it comes to salves and draughts. Though you might want to keep an eye on him around anything flammable.”

Evangeline chuckled, "Oh trust me, I'm well aware. Aguamenti is one of the first spells I learned after meeting him."

Sebastian let out a mock groan, dragging a hand through his hair as he shot Evangeline a dramatic look. “One little mishap I’m branded for life.”

Evangeline smirked. “One little mishap? Shall I list them all? Because I distinctly remember a certain incident involving fireworks and—”

“Alright, alright,” Sebastian cut in, holding up his hands in surrender, though his grin betrayed him. “No need to air all my secrets. I’d like Rosalie to still think I’m semi-responsible.”

Rosalie chuckled from across the shop, her voice light with amusement. “Too late for that, I’m afraid.”

Sebastian cleared his throat, suddenly finding the shop exit very interesting. “Alright, that’s enough roasting for one day,” he said, his tone half-joking as he pushed off the counter. “Come on, Evie. Let me show you the rest of the village before Rosalie starts telling you all my embarrassing stories.”

Evangeline shot him a knowing smile but didn’t argue, falling into step beside him as they headed for the door. The bell chimed softly as they stepped outside, the warm afternoon sunlight washing over them.

Evangeline was at ease, and she walked beside Sebastian with her hands loosely clasped behind her back, shopping bags in hand, glancing at the quaint cottages and the cheerful vendors calling out their wares. She even laughed when a particularly cheeky goat stuck its head through a fence to try and nibble at her dress.

“Your tour’s off to a decent start,” she said, glancing at him with a teasing smile. “Though the livestock could use some manners.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head as he opened the café door for her. “Can’t promise much there. Feldcroft and Upper Hogsfield aren’t exactly known for their refined goat etiquette.”

Evangeline snorted, the sound making him grin as they stepped inside the local café. It was cozy, with mismatched chairs and floral tablecloths that looked like they’d been stitched decades ago. A soft buzz of chatter filled the air, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee and savory pies.

They found a small table near the window, and Sebastian pulled out a chair for Evangeline with a flourish. “Your seat, madam.”

She rolled her eyes but took the seat anyway. Their banter came easily, and Sebastian felt himself relax as they browsed the menu. They ordered—chicken and leek pie for her, steak for him—along with tea that arrived almost instantly in steaming mugs.

“So,” Evangeline began, swirling her spoon in her tea, “Rosalie seems fond of you.”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Honestly, I think Rosalie keeps me around more for the company than my skill. Not that I mind—I’ve learned a lot. Brewing outside of class is different, though. Less about following instructions and more about figuring things out on your own.”

Evangeline tilted her head, her hazel eyes studying him over the rim of her mug. “So you like it? Working there, I mean.”

Sebastian hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I think I do. It’s not flashy or exciting, but it’s… steady. And after everything, steady feels good.”

She hummed softly, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her cup. “You’ve never struck me as the ‘steady’ type, Sebastian. But I suppose we all grow up eventually.”

He smirked, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Even if it sounds like you’re implying I was a reckless idiot before.”

Evangeline’s lips quirked into a faint smile, and she raised her mug to her lips. “Not implying,” she said lightly, taking a sip.

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head as their pies arrived. The rich aroma of buttery pastry and savory filling filled the air, and for a few moments, they ate in companionable silence.

“So,” she said, breaking the quiet as she set her fork down. “Have you thought about what you want to do after Hogwarts? Continue on the path to become a Potioneer perhaps? You’d already have an apprenticeship lined up here, and you are quite talented at it.”

Sebastian considered the question, his brow furrowing slightly. It was something he’d been turning over in his mind all summer, though he still didn’t have a clear answer. “I don’t think so,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “I’ve thought about it, but… I don't think it's right for me. There is such a thing as too steady. Spending the rest of my life weighing ingredients and stirring cauldrons? I don’t know. Feels a bit… tame.”

Evangeline tilted her head, her hazel eyes studying him thoughtfully. "Yeah... I can't say it's what I imagined for you. But you’ll figure it out.” Her tone was steady, certain, and it sent a small wave of warmth through him.

“Thanks,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on her. “What about you? Any grand plans after Hogwarts?”

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll travel for a while. I... think I'd like to become a curse-breaker."

Sebastian tried to swallow the unease that crept up his throat, but it clung stubbornly, sour and unshakable. A curse-breaker. Of course, it made sense for her—smart, brave, fiercely independent. It was exactly the sort of future she’d thrive in.

But most curse-breakers were sent far away, tackling ancient ruins and dangerous sites in remote corners of the world. His mind spun with the thought of her being gone for months, maybe even years at a time. The thought of his life without her in it at all was almost unbearable.

“That’s… ambitious,” he said finally, his voice more strained than he intended. He cleared his throat, forcing a smile as he tried again. “It’s a perfect fit for you, though. Adventurous, dangerous, getting to show off your ancient magic prowess—very Evangeline Sterling.”

Her lips curved faintly, though she seemed too focused on her tea to notice the tension in his voice. “It’s just an idea,” she said, her tone light. “I haven’t decided on anything yet. There’s still time.”

Time. The word was meant to be reassuring, but it only made the knot in his stomach tighten. He wanted to say something more, something encouraging that didn’t make him sound like a selfish git. But the words stuck, stubborn and uncooperative, as though the very idea of her leaving had tied them in knots.

He was saved—or cursed, depending on how he looked at it—by the subtle change in Evangeline’s posture. She stiffened almost imperceptibly, her gaze flicking toward the window behind him. The faint smile on her face vanished, replaced by something guarded, almost cold.

Sebastian frowned, turning slightly in his seat to follow her line of sight. It didn’t take long to spot the source of her sudden change.

Abigail Hartwell.

The fifth-year-going-on-sixth-year Gryffindor stood outside the café, chatting animatedly with one of the vendors. Her auburn hair gleamed in the sunlight, and her laugh carried faintly through the glass. She was holding up a vibrant scarf, twirling it in her hands as the shopkeeper nodded along with her chatter.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped.

Of course, it had to be her, the girl he'd kissed by the fire. Because why wouldn’t the universe throw this particular wrench into what had otherwise been a near-perfect day?

He turned back to Evangeline, his heart sinking further at the carefully neutral expression she wore. Her gaze had returned to her tea, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug with slow, deliberate movements. But the slight tension in her jaw and the way her shoulders held just a fraction too tightly gave her away.

Sebastian cleared his throat, trying to fill the awkward silence that had suddenly wrapped itself around the table like a shroud. “Evie—”

“Don’t,” she said softly, cutting him off without looking up. Her voice wasn’t sharp, but it carried a weight that stopped him in his tracks. “It’s fine.”

“I didn’t know she’d be here," he insisted, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table as he tried to catch her eye.

Evangeline let out a quiet, humorless laugh, finally looking up at him. Her eyes were guarded, her expression carefully composed. “Sebastian, I’m not upset. She has every right to exist."

The words were calm, measured, but they hit Sebastian like a punch to the gut. She wasn’t raising her voice or accusing him of anything, and that somehow made it worse.

“You know we don't speak anymore,” he said, his voice low but earnest. "We haven't spoken since..."

Evangeline’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I believe you.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?” he asked softly, his heart pounding in his chest.

Her gaze flicked up to meet his, steady but unreadable. “Because it doesn’t change anything, Sebastian. I’m not mad. I just… I don’t want to talk about it.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to try again, but she cut him off with a small shake of her head. “Please,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can we just… finish lunch?”

Sebastian stared at her for a long moment, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to say. But the guarded look in her eyes stopped him. She wasn’t ready, and pushing her would only make things worse.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice soft and reluctant. He leaned back in his chair, picking up his fork even though the thought of eating made his stomach churn.

Evangeline gave him a small, almost grateful nod before returning to her pie. The conversation shifted after that—forced, lighter topics that neither of them seemed particularly invested in. But Sebastian couldn’t shake the tension lingering between them, like a shadow neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

When they left the café, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting warm golden hues over the village. Sebastian led the way back toward the Floo, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stole glances at Evangeline. She walked beside him, her expression calm but distant, and he felt the weight of her silence like a leaden knot in his chest.

By the time they reached the apothecary, Sebastian couldn’t take it anymore. He stopped abruptly, turning to face her. “Evie—”

She stopped too, tilting her head slightly as she met his gaze, and he hesitated, his throat tightening around the words he wanted to say. But then he let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just… I’m sorry.”

Evangeline frowned, her hazel eyes narrowing slightly. “For what?”

“For everything,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “For being such a colossal idiot."

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, her lips curved into a faint, tired smile. “You’re always apologizing, Sebastian.”

“Because I’m always screwing things up,” he muttered.

Evangeline let out a soft sigh, stepping closer. “Look, I don’t need another apology,” she said gently. “I just… I need time. Okay?"

Sebastian nodded, his throat tight as he forced himself to look at her.

“Time,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alright.”

She gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning and continuing toward the Floo station. He followed, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

The sun was skimming the horizon by the time they returned to Feldcroft, the golden light of evening casting long shadows across the village. Sebastian busied himself in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and checking the roast he’d put in the oven earlier, while Evangeline sat quietly at the table, her fingers idly tracing the wood grain.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it was heavy, filled with everything they weren’t saying. Sebastian focused on the rhythm of his knife against the cutting board, the soft clink of dishes as he prepared their meal. It was easier to lose himself in the familiar motions than to confront the knot of emotions twisting in his chest.

Finally, Evangeline broke the quiet, her voice soft but steady. “Where did we leave off?”

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder, frowning slightly. “Leave off?”

“In Mansfield Park,” she clarified, tilting her head as she watched him. “I fell asleep."

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he set the knife down. “Right. I barely made it through a chapter.”

Evangeline’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Then you’ll have to catch me up,” she said, leaning back in her chair with an air of expectation. “Wouldn’t want me missing any crucial moments.”

Sebastian wiped his hands on a dish towel, his expression caught between amusement and exasperation. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?”

She shrugged, her smile widening slightly. "After dinner, yes. Speaking of, you need any help?"

Sebastian shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’ve got it. You’ve been on your feet enough today. Just sit back and relax.”

Evangeline raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Relax? You mean sit here and watch you wield that knife? No thanks.”

He smirked, turning back to the cutting board. “I’m perfectly capable, Evie.”

“I'm sure you are,” she replied lightly, standing and crossing the small kitchen to his side. “But I also happen to know you have a habit of biting off more than you can chew."

Sebastian rolled his eyes but didn’t stop her as she slipped past him to grab an apron from the hook by the pantry. She tied it around her waist with practiced ease, shooting him a pointed look. “So, what can I do?”

“You can sit back down like I said,” he replied, only half-serious as he chopped a carrot with exaggerated precision. “Dinner’s practically done anyway.”

Evangeline tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in playful skepticism. “Practically done, huh? And yet you’re still chopping vegetables like your life depends on it.”

He paused, glancing at the array of ingredients he’d half-prepared. She wasn’t wrong.

“Alright, fine,” he relented, stepping aside with a dramatic sigh. “Since you’re so eager, you can finish the carrots. But don’t blame me if you regret volunteering.”

Evangeline grinned, stepping up to the counter and taking the knife from him. She tested its weight with a flick of her wrist before resuming his chopping, her movements quick and confident.

Sebastian leaned against the counter, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “You’ve done this before.”

She smirked, not looking up. “What gave it away? The part where I didn’t cut my fingers off?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, crossing his arms. “But also the speed. You’re better at this than I am.”

“Not surprising,” she replied casually, her tone teasing. “I grew up in the Muggle world, remember? No house-elves to do the cooking for us.”

Sebastian tilted his head, studying her as she worked. “I never thought about that. So, what? You cooked all the time?”

“Not all the time,” she said with a shrug. “But the orphanage wasn’t exactly overflowing with staff. If you wanted something more than bland stew, you learned how to make it yourself.”

Her tone was light, but Sebastian caught the faint edge of something unspoken in her words. He didn’t press, instead focusing on the way her hands moved with practiced ease, turning the once-messy pile of vegetables into neat, even slices.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, a grin tugging at his lips. “You win. You’re officially better in the kitchen.”

Evangeline laughed softly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m good at lots of things.”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed,” he replied, his grin softening into something warmer.

They finished preparing the meal together, falling into an easy rhythm as they moved around the small kitchen. And by the time they sat down to eat, the earlier tension was gone.

The meal was simple—a small roast with freshly sautéed vegetables—but they really didn't need much, especially after their earlier feast at the café. They kept the conversation light, trading stories about their summer adventures and laughing at the ridiculous antics of their mutual friends.

When the plates were cleared and the kitchen tidied, Evangeline leaned against the counter, her arms crossed as she regarded him with a thoughtful expression. “So,” she said, tilting her head. “Are you going to keep your promise?”

Sebastian frowned, confused. “Promise?”

“To catch me up on Mansfield Park,” she clarified, her lips curving into a small smile. “Or were you planning on backing out?”

He chuckled, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I wouldn’t dare.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Good. Then let’s go outside.”

Sebastian blinked, “Outside?”

She nodded, pushing off the counter and heading toward the back door. “It’s a nice evening,” she said, glancing over her shoulder with a teasing smile. “Unless you’re too delicate to read by moonlight.”

Sebastian let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he followed her. “Alright, alright. But if I'm eaten by mosquitos, you’re to blame.”

Evangeline stepped out into the night, the cool evening air brushing against her skin. The stars were just beginning to emerge, their faint glow scattered across the darkening sky. She led him into the field stretching beyond the cottage, silently casting lumos to light the way.

Sebastian followed close behind as the wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their colors muted in the silvery light of the rising moon. The warmth of the day had given way to the cool, crisp embrace of evening, and the air smelled faintly of grass and distant woodsmoke.

“Here,” Evangeline said softly, stopping at a small rise in the field. “This is perfect.”

Sebastian glanced around. The spot she’d chosen offered a clear view of the stars, the endless expanse of the night sky stretching above them like a tapestry.

“You’ve got an eye for scenery, I’ll give you that.”

Evangeline lowered herself onto the soft grass, her dress pooling around her as she leaned back on her hands. “It’s not exactly a cozy armchair by the fire,” she admitted, tilting her head to gaze up at the sky. “But it’s nice, isn’t it?”

Sebastian sat beside her, stretching out his legs and setting the book down between them. “It is,” he agreed, his voice quiet as he followed her gaze. “Though I still maintain the mosquitos are out to get me.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and melodic in the stillness. “You’ll survive,” she teased. “And if not, I promise to avenge you.”

He chuckled, reaching for the book and flipping to the marked page. “Alright. Let’s see where we left off.”

Evangeline smiled, shifting slightly to lean against his shoulder. The motion was casual, unthinking, but it sent a jolt through Sebastian that he hoped didn’t show. He adjusted the book in his hands, clearing his throat as he began to read.

His voice was steady and low, weaving the words into the quiet night. Evangeline listened intently, her eyes drifting closed every so often as she allowed the story to wash over her.

Occasionally, she would comment, her voice soft and teasing, poking fun at a particular line or offering her opinion on a character’s decisions. Sebastian would respond in kind, his quips earning quiet laughter that made his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t quite name.

As the night deepened, the words began to blur together, their cadence slower and softer as Sebastian’s voice grew quieter. He wasn't sure when they'd laid down on their backs, or when Evie had extinguished the glow of her wand as they looked up at the sky, but Sebastian found himself stretched out beside her, the book forgotten on the grass between them.

Evangeline’s voice broke the quiet, soft and thoughtful. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”

Sebastian turned his head slightly, glancing at her. “What is?”

Her hazel eyes remained fixed on the stars, their faint glow reflecting in her gaze. “How small we are,” she murmured. “How the world feels so big and endless until you’re lying here, looking up at… all of this.”

Sebastian followed her gaze. He wasn’t often struck by the enormity of the universe—his thoughts had a way of staying locked firmly in the present, on the people and problems closest to him. But now, with Evangeline beside him, he felt the weight of her words settle deep in his chest.

“Getting a bit philosophical on me, eh Sterling?"

Evangeline smiled faintly, her gaze still fixed on the stars. “Moments like this… they make you think. Or maybe they make you feel too much. I’m not sure which.”

Sebastian’s gaze drifted from the stars to Evangeline’s profile, unable to resist the pull of the soft curve of her cheek, the way the moonlight kissed her skin, and the delicate line of her jaw. Her hair spilled across the grass, a dark curtain catching faint silver threads under the night sky. She looked serene, thoughtful, untouchably beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.

She wasn’t the same girl he’d met in two years ago, scrappy and sharp-tongued, too fierce for her size, though he lover her too. Somewhere along the way, she had grown up, grown into someone with a quiet strength and a beauty that left him undone. She wasn’t just Evie, his friend, his confidante. She was…

Merlin help him.

As if sensing the weight of his gaze, Evangeline turned her head, her eyes catching his. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the world narrowing to the space between them. Her lips parted slightly, and Sebastian saw the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Caught you,” she said softly, her voice teasing but gentle.

Sebastian floundered, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. Her soft laugh broke the tension, and she shook her head, her gaze drifting back to the stars.

“Relax, Sebastian,” she murmured.

She sounded casual, but the tension lingering in the air told a different story. Sebastian couldn’t look away, his heart pounding as he watched the faint flush that spread across her cheeks.

For a moment, he thought he saw something in her eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, of curiosity, as though she were daring him to close the distance between them. His chest tightened, his mind spinning with the possibilities of what might happen if he leaned in, if he just…

But then Evangeline let out a soft laugh, breaking the spell. “You’ve got that look,” she teased, her tone light. “The one you get when you’re overthinking something.”

Sebastian forced a chuckle, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, you know me. Always thinking too much. Or not enough.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to face him. "So what is it this time?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words tangled in his throat, refusing to cooperate. How could he even begin to explain the tangle of emotions he was feeling? How could he put into words the way she made him feel—how the very thought of her was both a comfort and a torment?

Instead, he shook his head with a lopsided grin, defaulting to humor to shield himself. “Oh, you know, just thinking that you're hogging the better angle for the stars."

Evangeline narrowed her eyes, her lips twitching into a knowing smirk. “Hogging the better angle for the stars?” she repeated, her tone dripping with skepticism. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

Sebastian shrugged, his grin widening as he leaned back onto the grass. “What can I say? You’re very inconsiderate when it comes to stargazing placement.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t press further. Instead, she lay back down, her gaze drifting to the sky again. The quiet returned, stretching between them, and Sebastian was just starting to relax when he felt her shift slightly closer. He tensed, the subtle movement catching him off guard. The warmth of her presence brushed against his side, and before he could process what was happening, her hand reached for his. She brushed his palm lightly, hesitant yet deliberate, before lacing their fingers together.

“Your hands are cold,” she murmured softly, her voice so quiet it almost got lost in the rustle of the grass around them.

Sebastian chuckled faintly, trying to steady his pounding heart. “Well, you’re the one who grabbed it. Don’t complain now.”

Evangeline tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes as she glanced at him. “I’m not complaining,” she said simply, her tone lighter now. “Just an observation.”

Her hands were smaller than his, and impossibly soft, a stark contrast to the sharp edges of his own. It made no sense, really. She’d spent just as many hours clutching her wand, casting spells, and facing danger, yet her hands were untouched by the wear of it all.

“You’re quiet,” Evangeline said softly, breaking the silence.

He turned his head toward her, their faces closer now than he’d realized. “Just… thinking.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “More star angles?”

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Not this time.”

"Then what?"

Sebastian swallowed, his heart heavy with thoughts he couldn’t voice. The memory of the party loomed like a shadow over this perfect moment, a bitter reminder of his mistakes. He thought about how Evangeline had clung to him that night, the trust in her eyes as if he was her anchor. And yet, he’d left her.

Left her for Abigail.

The memory of that drunken, thoughtless kiss was blurry at best, and even in the haze of it, he couldn’t conjure any meaning. What he could remember clearly, though, was the fallout. His brilliant plan—or lack thereof—had been to act like it didn’t matter. Like if he carried on as if nothing had happened, the rumors swirling through the school would simply burn out.

It had been selfish. Stupid. He’d allowed himself to be seen around the castle with Abigail, as though he had something to prove, as though flaunting indifference would somehow mend the cracks. Instead, it had only driven the knife deeper.

And yet, he’d done it anyway.

He thought about that night by the Black Lake, where the soft lap of water against the shore had been the only sound between them. He’d stumbled through an apology, the words tumbling out unevenly. He’d tried—tried so desperately—to explain himself, to make her see that what had happened meant nothing, that the last thing he ever wanted was to hurt her.

But he’d stopped short of the full truth. He hadn’t told her the thing that haunted him most, the thing that clawed at his chest every time he saw her—the truth that he was utterly, hopelessly in love with her.

It wasn’t just love in the way people usually spoke of it. It wasn’t gentle or measured, something that grew quietly over time. No, this was all-consuming, an all-encompassing force that made him feel both weightless and chained. It terrified him—how deeply it rooted itself in his soul, how it left no part of him untouched. He loved her fiercely, painfully, in a way that felt as though it might tear him apart if he kept it hidden for much longer.

And now, as she lay beside him, her hand soft in his, waiting for whatever answer he’d give, the weight of his silence grew. He thought about telling her—about finally letting those three small, monumental words tumble free from where they’d lived on the edge of his tongue for years. He thought about how good it would feel to let her know, to stop hiding what had always been written so plainly in the way he looked at her.

But then he thought about today. The way she’d made those comments this morning over tea, not-so-subtle jabs he fully deserved. The way her expression had tightened when Abigail passed by the cafe, like a wound reopening despite her efforts to mask it. The way she’d told him she needed time.

Time.

She’d been clear, and he couldn’t take that from her. He couldn’t heap his feelings onto her now, when she deserved the space to decide for herself what she wanted—without guilt, without obligation.

So he swallowed the truth once more, compressing it into something smaller, safer. Something that wouldn’t burden her.

“You mean a lot to me, Evangeline,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Everything to me, really."

Evangeline didn’t respond as she turned her head toward him, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, Sebastian thought he might have said too much—or maybe not enough. Her gaze searched his face, steady and unflinching, as though she were trying to read the unspoken things he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

“...everything?" She repeated softly.

Sebastian swallowed hard, his fingers tightening instinctively around hers. The urge to tell her everything—to spill the entirety of his heart at her feet—burned fiercely in his chest. But he couldn’t. Not when she’d only just begun to let him in again.

Still, he couldn’t lie to her.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything.”

Evangeline’s expression softened, her lips parting slightly as she absorbed his words. For a moment, it looked like she might say something—something he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear. Her hazel eyes flickered with something unreadable, something caught between disbelief and longing.

“Sebastian,” she started, her voice barely audible. Her fingers curled tighter around his, as if steadying herself for what came next. “You…” She trailed off, her gaze dropping to their joined hands as she let out a soft, almost nervous laugh. “You always have a way of saying things that make it hard to think straight.”

Sebastian’s heart twisted, unsure whether to feel disappointed, relieved, or smug at her words. She hadn’t said what he secretly hoped for—but she hadn’t pulled away, either. Instead, she held onto him, her fingers laced tightly with his as though she couldn’t let go, even if she tried.

He let out a soft laugh, a sound caught somewhere between amusement and nervousness. “Well, I aim to leave a lasting impression,” he said, “Even if it means I’m just making you dizzy.”

“Dizzy doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she murmured, her voice so quiet it felt like a secret meant only for him.

His chest tightened, the confession—small as it was—sending a wave of warmth through him. Did she realize what she was saying? Did she know what her words did to him, how they made him feel like he was teetering on the edge of something he both craved and feared?

He wanted to say so much more—to tell her that she wasn’t the only one who felt dizzy, that she had a way of making the ground beneath him feel unsteady in the best way. But he couldn’t find the words, couldn’t figure out how to say what he meant without risking too much.

“Well,” she said softly, breaking the moment as she let go of his hand and sat up. The warmth of her touch faded too quickly, leaving his palm cold in the evening air. “We should probably head back in. The dew’s starting to seep through my dress.”

Sebastian blinked, startled by the sudden shift, and scrambled to sit up beside her. The spell of the moment had shattered, leaving him feeling oddly untethered, like something important had slipped through his fingers. “Oh, right,” he said quickly, brushing his hands on his trousers to keep them busy. “Can’t have you catching a chill."

Sebastian rose to his feet, picking up the forgotten book and tucking it under his arm before following her back towards his cottage, his mind spinning with everything left unsaid.

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all good things should have a bit of malice in them (game master cinematic universe, part 7) | read on ao3

“Sam,” came the tentative voice from a little way down the corridor, and the man in question paused, turning to look at his colleague with a smile. Brian seemed… not quite worried, exactly, but distracted. There was tension in the way he tucked a wisp of hair that had escaped its customary ponytail behind his ear, like he was trying to keep his hands busy while his brain searched for the right words.

“What’s up?”

“I know I’m being manipulated,” Brian said slowly, “but I thought I’d ask anyway. Is there any chance that you’d consider putting the dematerialisation circuit back in Other Sam’s ship? Just for one quick trip?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “No. Not for another few months of good behaviour, at least. Why do you ask?”

Brian sighed. The answer he’d received wasn’t unexpected, but it was a disappointment all the same. “No reason. Just… something silly, that’s all.”

“What did he say to you?” Sam asked, feeling a knot begin to form in his stomach.

“Honestly, it really wasn’t anything to be worried about,” Brian replied quickly. “It wasn’t a threat, or anything like that. It was just…”

He trailed off, looking almost wistful.

Sam frowned. The immediate spike of anxiety that had shot through him had dulled, fading to concern—a gentler emotion, but no more welcome. “Brian, what happened?”

“Well,” Brian started, taking a deep breath.

---

“I saw your episode of Very Important People,” a familiar voice had said behind him in an unfamiliar cadence, and Brian had nearly choked on his water.

“You watch the shows?” he asked in surprise, turning to look Other Sam in the face. The suit the Time Lord had chosen was a nice touch, he thought—the same cut and style as original Sam’s, but red-shifted to a sort of maroon-purple. “More evil,” indeed.

“Oh, you know,” Other Sam shrugged. “Always good to know a little more about who I’m working with. And you’re certainly an interesting one. You figured out the real time loop in Deja Vu before anyone else, did you know that? Well, of course you don’t, you—”

“Don’t remember,” Brian finished with him, allowing a touch of bitterness to intrude into his tone.

“Exactly,” Other Sam said, with a smile like a shark. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on you since then. You’re bright, for a human.”

“Gee, thanks,” Brian replied, letting the easy reach to sarcasm work to disguise the spark of genuine pride the words had kindled.

Other Sam didn’t look at all perturbed. “Take the compliment or don’t, your choice,” he said. “I’m just saying it because you seem to understand a few things better than the others. Like the perks of control.”

“Oh, hah, that was just a character, you know,” Brian blustered. “For the interview.”

“Of course,” Other Sam hummed in agreement. “Nothing at all like you, I take it?”

Brian nodded sharply.

“So you’re saying that if there was a way that I could get you those sorts of cybernetic enhancements, for real,” Other Sam said innocently, “you wouldn’t be interested?”

Try as he might, Brian couldn’t fully prevent the squeak that escaped him, and Other Sam grinned. 

“Maybe not the claw,” he said, “you didn’t seem as dexterous as would be ideal with that one, but the rest of it? That’s more than possible, and in so many different ways. A quick hop to the future, or any number of planets… All I’d need is to be able to use my ship again.”

There it was, the real reason for the offer, and Brian felt the hopes that had been rising in him despite his better judgement suddenly fall flat. Sam had told him what had happened during the ill-fated Sam Says 4 recording, and had revealed as much as he was able to about Deja Vu. He couldn’t give this guy the key out of the imprisonment he’d only just been put in.

He steeled himself and shook his head. “Sorry.”

Other Sam had just sighed delicately. “Suit yourself. I just thought I’d mention it. How noble of you, playing by the rules.”

And then he’d walked off, seeming none too bothered by Brian’s refusal, which was a relief in and of itself. From what he’d heard, he was worried that saying no might put him in actual danger. But no, he’d met with no consequences. All in all, not the worst encounter he could have had with Other Sam, and when he left the building later that day, the confidence he’d made the right decision sat firm in his chest.

But… damn, Other Sam was good.

That evening, Brian couldn’t keep his mind from returning to that faint wisp of a thought. The memory of the euphoria he’d felt when he opened his eyes to see the almost cyborg version of himself in the mirror haunted him in fleeting bursts. And if he was completely honest with himself, the possibility of living in perfect homeostasis, being able to just create without having to stop and take care of the necessary functions of life, was really quite appealing.

Days passed, and as much as he tried to keep his focus on other things, his thoughts kept drifting back to that particular topic. When it was just a bit of prop work for an improvised interview, it was something he could enjoy for the time it lasted, then put down again. But knowing that it was a real possibility… Even as he tried to suppress the idea, it only grew more seductive.

And when just sitting passively with that concept had become too much to bear, genuine transhumanism dangling within sight but just out of reach, he’d gone to find the real Sam. Of course he’d say no. Still… there was always the chance he might say yes, however slim that was. And he wouldn’t know for sure until he asked.

---

The concern in Sam’s eyes was now mingled with sympathy, and as the recipient of that particular look, Brian felt something in his stomach clench.

“It’s fine,” he said hastily. “Don’t worry about it. Just something silly, like I said.”

Sam looked sad as he drew breath to respond.

“Brian, it’s not silly when it clearly brought you so much joy.”

The words were right, the voice was right, the tone was right. But something was still distinctly wrong, and the hair on the back of his neck started to rise. And half a second later, his brain caught up to what his instincts had already realised, because it struck him like a fist in the gut that he hadn’t seen Sam’s mouth move at all. In fact, Sam’s voice had come from the wrong direction entirely.

He whirled to see Other Sam standing at his back, smiling at him with a look that could have been mistaken for genuine support.

“All I want to do is help,” he continued, every fibre of his being radiating sincerity and gentle patience. 

“Sure,” Sam replied with a roll of his eyes. 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Other Sam said. “I like him. He's smart, and he could almost think like me. With the right prompting, of course.”

Sam tried to suppress the shudder that rolled through him, and nearly succeeded. “You know the deal was hands off the team.”

“Oh, boo,” Other Sam pouted. “I wouldn't have offered if he didn't want it.”

“He's right,” Brian interjected quietly. 

“Brian—”  Sam started, then paused. His eyes narrowed. “Wait. What's ‘it’, exactly? What's he offered you?”

“Avery Goodman,” Brian said, and Sam nodded in recognition. “All of that. But for real.”

Looking into Brian's face, Sam could see plain as day that trying to dissuade him would be of no use whatsoever. He knew Brian was a smart man, knew that he'd probably considered all the dangers to working with Other Sam, even on something small. But the naked want that shone in Brian's eyes like a beacon burned brightly enough to drown all of that out.

Rather than facing that immediately, he turned to his doppelganger. “It's only been a couple of months, man. You're still very much a flight risk.”

“I know,” Other Sam replied contritely, then cast his gaze around before finally meeting Sam's eyes hesitantly. “But I suppose… Well, we don't have to go offworld for it. I can do a significant number of those procedures myself, as it happens.”

The coyness was very much staged. The way his eyes had lit up before saying that last part, Sam wondered if that hadn't been his double's plan the whole time. 

And implications aside, there were the practical details to consider. “Hang on. You're not doing surgery in my fucking studio!”

A shadow passed across the Master's face. “Not your studio. My TARDIS, and you'd do well to remember that.”

“I don't mind where it happens,” Brian piped up wistfully.

Other Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, the picture of magnanimity. “You see? The gentleman insists. And you've got nothing to be worried about,” he added, turning away from Sam to face Brian properly, and taking a step to propel them both in the direction of the console room. “I was very good at cyber conversion, and it's not something you forget in a hurry.”

“Who said I was worried?” Brian asked. His eyes had been shining since the word “cyber” had been mentioned. 

Sam, on the other hand, had been struck by “conversion”, and the word had left a bad taste in his mouth. “Just wait a minute.”

He pulled out his phone, bringing up the contact he'd been given months before. 

Hi Doctor, it's Sam. Quick question, is “cyber conversion” a good or bad thing? 

“—were right about homeostasis, you won't need to eat, or sleep, or any of those mundane things,” he heard his double say quietly as he waited for a reply. “And there are other pesky things that the procedure takes care of as well—”

His phone pinged.

No way. Sam Reich from Dropout Sam?? Oh my god I'm a massive fan, I was so jealous when the Doctor said he'd met you without me! 

Sam started to frown, confused, when another message appeared. 

Sorry!! Not the Doctor, I'm Ruby, we travel together. I've passed your question on though, and he'll get back to you as soon as we’ve got out of this giant space snail thing. Long story! 

“Are you ratting on me to the Doctor?” Sam's doppelganger asked with a hint of petulant disappointment. “Don't you trust me?”

A third message had popped up, and he opened it before responding. 

Doctor says cyber conversion is no good very bad do not let him do it to anyone, read the clearly hastily-written text. 

“No,” Sam replied. “And for good reason, by the sound of it.”

Other Sam just sighed. 

“I was going to say no to the whole ‘getting rid of my emotions’ bit,” Brian added. “And as much as having an electric blaster arm would be incredibly cool, I don't want that to come at the cost of being stuck in a metal suit for the rest of my life.”

Sam blinked. “Yeah. Not agreeing to all that sounds like a good idea.”

His doppelganger rolled his eyes. “Humans. You people don't know what's good for you.”

“Seems like it's what's good for you, not him,” Sam pointed out. 

“Same thing.”

“It’s really not,” Sam replied. “Look, Brian. What did you want out of this?”

Brian eagerly rattled off a few technical terms that Other Sam must have told him, which Sam tried fruitlessly to transcribe before giving up and asking him to repeat them into a voice memo.

What about these? he sent off to Ruby, with the memo attached. 

Doctor says fine, fine, dubious but okay if your friend agrees to it, and only do that last one under supervision, came the reply.

Okay, I know one of those words means something in the brain, Sam typed out. Please don’t tell me supervision means I have to watch brain surgery. I don’t know anything about brain surgery. And I really don’t want to watch brain surgery. Or any kind of surgery, actually.

The Doctor will do it! We’re nearly out of the snail, just hang on for a mo!

“The Doctor says that, and only that, would be okay,” Sam said slowly. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, if he was being honest, but the shine in Brian’s eyes made it worthwhile.

“Really?” he asked, and Sam nodded.

Other Sam smiled. “Wonderful. We can certainly make that happen.”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on a second,” Sam cut in. “The Doctor said he'll supervise.”

This news was greeted with the look of scorn he expected. “Oh yeah? Is he going to show up? Not likely. He never returns to where he left his mess.”

“Ruby said he would,” Sam shrugged. “Don’t know the how and the why, but she was pretty confident.”

“Ruby?” Brian asked.

“Presumably the latest stray he’s picked up to show off to,” Sam’s doppelganger sniped, his tone heavy with disdain, before Sam himself could get a word in. “She’ll be young. English, probably, or at least British of some description. Ooh, and if she’s blonde, I get an extra point.”

“Couldn’t say,” Sam replied. “We’ve only texted.” 

His double shrugged. “Just you wait. Anyway, Brian,” he said, the contempt dropping from his voice to be replaced by a honeyed gentleness. “Shall we get ready?”

He led Brian through the studio’s corridors, en route to an unremarkable door that was identical to, and somehow even less noticeable than, all the other doors along the way, Sam trailing behind them by a few steps.

He’d already seen inside the console room, back when his doppelganger was trying to make a good impression. Brian, however, had not, and much as Sam was worried by this entire turn of events, he still couldn’t wait to see the look on his friend’s face when he saw the TARDIS properly.

Brian, of course, did not disappoint.

His entire face lit up as Other Sam pushed the door open to reveal a wonderland of otherworldly technology, unrestrained by the confines of what, according to the expected laws of physics, should have been a cupboard-sized room. “No,” he breathed in disbelieving awe, then laughed, a noise of unrestrained, giddy delight. “Oh my god. Oh, my god.”

“Good, isn’t it?” Other Sam said, with no small amount of smugness.

“Good?” Brian repeated, turning in a slow circle to drink it all in. “Holy shit. It’s amazing, I love it!”

Despite his unease, Sam couldn’t help but smile as he watched the display of pure fascination. Even now, even though he was no longer a complete newcomer to the TARDIS, being inside the spacetime machine still felt like pure magic.

His doppelganger tolerated the marvelling for a short while longer, before impatience once again crept into his demeanour. “We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?” he prompted, a distinct bite to his tone. “This way.”

Brian nodded, sufficiently chastened, and with his friend at his side, followed Other Sam deeper into the ship.

“Here,” he announced after a moment. The room he gestured to was bright and sterile, set out like a futuristic operating theatre, and Brian felt his heart rate spike with anticipation as he crossed over the threshold. 

“Should I…?” he asked, motioning to the table in the centre of the room, and Other Sam nodded.

Sam watched as his double set out a bewildering array of medical tools, some familiar, some very not, then paused, examining Brian closely.

“Well, you look ready, and I know I am,” Other Sam said. “So all we need now is for our… supervision… to arrive.”

As if on cue, Sam’s phone lit up with a Whatsapp call.

“Sam!” the Doctor exclaimed, clearly peering around what he was able to see of the room. “And you must be Brian, hello!”

“Hi,” Brian replied, slightly awkward from his prone position on the operating table.

“Sam, babes,” the Doctor started. “Would you be comfortable getting close? I need to be able to see what’s going on properly. Or—ooh, there’s a screen over there, if you just—”

“Fine,” Other Sam sighed, intercepting the request with bad grace and the flick of a switch. 

From the other end of the call, Sam could hear the buzz of the Doctor’s sonic device, and with a squeal of feedback, the video call transferred itself onto the monitor that had just been turned on.

“There we go!” the Doctor grinned, his image blown up to fullscreen view. “Now I can see everything I need to, clear as a bell, and Sam’s got his phone back. And you all can meet Ruby!”

“Hiya,” came a cheerful voice from just offscreen, and a blonde girl—she couldn’t have been more than 20—popped her head into frame and waved. “He’s hijacked my phone, so I get to listen to live medical dramas while I try and get space snail goo off my favourite jacket.”

Sam’s doppelganger shot him a pointed look. “Told you,” he muttered with satisfaction.

Sam ignored him, instead focusing on the Doctor, who had taken back the call. “Brian, I just want to check before you get started on this. You know what these procedures are going to involve? And you fully consent?”

Brian nodded, utterly overwhelmed in the best possible way. “Y-yeah. I do. I consent.”

“Okay,” the Doctor said. “I promise I’ll be keeping a close eye on him through all of this, so nothing will happen outside the limits of what you’ve agreed to, yeah?”

“Okay,” Brian agreed with wide eyes, unable to keep the tremor of excitement out of his voice. It was happening. Oh, god, it was finally happening.

Through the screen, the Doctor and Other Sam shared a look that neither of the humans in the room could quite decipher. But it seemed like some silent agreement had been reached, which was the main thing.

Other Sam picked up something that looked like a scalpel of light, and smiled down at Brian. “Ready?”

“Fuck,” Brian breathed. “Yeah. Ready.”

The Master put down the scalpel and placed his hands on either side of Brian’s face, making direct and unblinking eye contact as he did so. After a second, Brian’s eyelids fluttered shut, and all the tension of consciousness drained from his body. He was out like a light, completely dead to the world.

Hypnotic anaesthesia achieved, the Master flashed a satisfied smirk at Sam, who felt something in his chest go tight. That’s what happened to him the day the Master revealed himself, he realised, a simple little psychic violation that looked so quick and easy, and the air suddenly felt too thick to breathe.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said, and fled to the corridor.

Phone in hand, he spent a while just scrolling through the usual selection of apps to distract himself, time getting sucked into those familiar black holes, before another text from Ruby popped up on the screen. 

I think they’re nearly done!! But just while I’m thinking about it, and this is probably a really weird question so I’m really sorry, but is there an older woman who works at Dropout? English, late 60s, curly hair?

Sam frowned, opening his gallery and thumbing back through months of photos.

Like this? he texted back, attaching a picture from last year’s staff Christmas party. Third from the left at the back is Zan from costuming.

Oh my god. Yeah that’s her.

Sam frowned. Is that okay? I’ve never noticed anything weird about her, she’s actually really lovely.

It’s fine, I think, read the reply. It’s just we’ve been seeing a lot of this woman lately, or people who look identical to her. All in different places, all different, real people, but literally identical. And here she is again. Weird!! But probably nothing for you to be worried about.

That is weird, Sam started to type back, but was distracted by a thin seam of white light that grew wider and wider as the door to the control room opened, and Brian stepped out into the corridor.

That a transformation had occurred was undeniable. To Sam’s surprise, considering the surgery that his friend had undergone, Brian was remarkably unscarred, and the robot arm had been left out of whatever procedures had gone on in that room—but twin points of light peeked above the collar of his shirt, much like the red and yellow LEDs covered by the lab coat he had worn as part of his costume.

“You’re, uh, glowing,” Sam pointed out, realising as he said the words that he was echoing Vic. 

“Oh!” Brian replied. “Hang on, let me turn that down—”

He made a face of intent concentration, and indeed, the lights dimmed and faded altogether. The brightness in his smile, however, didn’t diminish in the slightest.

“Isn’t it brilliant? I’ve got total control, all from up here.”

He tapped his temple, beaming once again as his finger made contact with not flesh, but metal. The most obvious aspect of Brian’s cyborg transformation was the implant that curled around his eye—a near match to the silicone patch that had been glued on for his Avery Goodman costume, but possessed of a certain unarguable realness.

Sam just shook his head, at a loss for words.

“I can hide that, too,” Brian assured him cheerfully. With another look of focus, the air above the metal shimmered and blurred, and in as much time as it took Sam to scratch the sudden itch at the back of his head, it had cleared to reveal smooth, unmarked skin.

“Wow,” was all Sam could say for a moment, before a smile slowly dawned across his face. “Brian… fuck, man. I’m happy for you, genuinely. And I can’t tell you how glad I am that it all worked out.”

Brian beamed.

---

At the console of his grounded TARDIS, lost in thoughts of stolen freedom and schemes that should have been, the Master felt a not unfamiliar sensation at the back of his mind. It was enough to dispel the unhelpful reminiscences, and he smiled, slow and vulpine.

“Do you think it’s bad we didn’t tell him you did this part of it?” he heard, Brian’s voice in his mind as clear as if the other man had been standing in the room with him. “I mean, the Doctor knows, so that’s enough, right?”

“Of course it’s enough,” the Master sent back. “And Sam will find out eventually. But until then, you and I can have some fun.”

—

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): x part seven (all good things should have a bit of malice in them): you are here!

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

"Do you not realize it? Do you... truly not see what this means?"

The next Destiny Bond update is in progress! ❄️✨ –> Check out the latest part here 🔷 –> New to the series? Follow from the start! 💜

[jadevine]

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

Update March 1, 2024: Hey there folks, here's yet another update! I reposted Part 2a (the "medieval warhorses" tangent) to my writing blog, and I went down MORE of the horse-knowledge rabbit hole! https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/741423906984951808/my-post-got-cut-off-so-i-added-the-rest-of-it Update Jan 30, 2024: Hey folks, I've posted the updated version of this post on my blog, so I don't have to keep frantically telling everyone "hey, that's the old version of this post!" https://thebalangay.wordpress.com/2024/01/29/preindustrial-travel-times-part-1/

I should get the posts about army travel times and camp followers reformatted and posted to my blog around the end of the week, so I'll filter through my extremely tangled thread for them.

Part 2 - Preindustrial ARMY travel times: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Part 2a - How realistic warhorses look and act, because the myth of "all knights were mounted on huge clunky draft horses" just refuses to die: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/732043691180605440/helpful-things-for-action-writers-to-remember

Part 3 - Additional note about camp followers being regular workers AND sex-workers: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/740604203134828544/reblogging-the-time-looped-version-of-my

--

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance" per day. For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND, so by the time you're done slogging through drier patches of wetlands or squeezing through trees, a deceptively short 10-15 miles in rough terrain might take you a whole day to walk instead of the usual half-day.

If you are traveling in freezing winters or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

Traveling in TOO-HOT weather is just as bad, because pushing yourself too hard and getting dehydrated at noon in the tropics will literally kill you. It's called heat-STROKE, not "heat-PARTY."

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

—

UPDATE January 13: Several people have gotten curious and looked at maps, to find out how a lot of cities are indeed spread out at a nice distance of 20-30 miles apart! I love getting people interested in my hyperfixations, lol.

But remember that this is the space between CITIES AND TOWNS. There should never be a 20-mile stretch of empty wilderness between City A and Town B, unless your world explains why folks are able to build a city in the middle of nowhere, or if something has specifically gone wrong to wipe out its supporting villages!

Period pieces often portray a shining city rising from a sea of picturesque empty land, without a single grain field or cow pasture in sight, but that city would starve to death very quickly in preindustrial times.

Why? Because as Bret Devereaux mentions in his “Lonely Cities” article (https://acoup.blog/2019/07/12/collections-the-lonely-city-part-i-the-ideal-city/), preindustrial cities and towns must have nearby villages (and even smaller towns, if large and prosperous enough!) to grow their food for them.

The settlements around a city will usually be scattered a few miles apart from each other, usually clustered along the roads to the city gates. Those villages and towns at the halfway point between cities (say 10-15 miles) are going to be essential stops for older/sick folks, merchants with cargo, and large groups like noble’s retinues and army forces.

Preindustrial armies and large noble retinues usually can’t make it far past 10-12 miles per day, as denoted in my addition to this post. (https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask )

[moonstruckme]

rooomate james. 😭😭 literally obsessed w himm!!

Me too I love him (and you!) sm <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 808 words

You don’t recognize James’ car until he shouts at you. 

“Hey!” 

You give a little jump, turning midair to find James smiling out the rolled-down window. 

“Want a lift?” 

“God, you scared me!” You backtrack and open the passenger door. The seat looks to have been tidied in a hurry, receipts and takeaway containers tossed into the backseat. “How’d you even know I’d need a ride?” 

James refrains from responding to give you an expectant look. You roll your eyes and buckle your seatbelt. Satisfied, he puts the car in reverse, setting his hand on your seat to look behind him as he backs out of the parking spot. 

“You weren’t home when I got there,” he says, “and then I remembered on Sundays you usually get off at eleven, so here I am. Is Art not with you?” 

“No, he wasn’t working tonight.” 

James doesn’t seem too disappointed by this. He pulls onto the street. You watch him, looking almost unconsciously for signs of wear and tear. 

Now that rugby season is in full swing, he’s gone not just during the day for training but sometimes overnight for away games. You’ve been alone in your apartment for the whole weekend while he played in London and then Bristol. It was weird. You think you’ve accidentally grown used to having James around. You don’t fancy yourself a very tactile person, and the urge to hug him isn’t terribly strong, but it’s there. 

“How was work?” he asks you. 

“It was fine. How were your matches?” 

“They were fine,” he imitates you, grinning. “No, it’s like I said. Winning the second one’s always better than winning the first and losing the second. It’s nice to end on a good note.”

He’d texted continual updates while he was gone. You sat on your couch, pretending to yourself or perhaps to some invisible, judgemental observer that you were watching TV when really you were entirely focused on James’ texts. You imagined him sitting in his hotel room doing the same, or maybe in a pub with his teammates, smiling at his phone each time you responded. 

Your imagination has become terribly overindulgent lately. 

“Honestly, I was pretty disappointed you weren’t home when I got there,” James says, a familiar teasing lilt to his voice. “I was hoping to come in and catch you wearing one of my jumpers and staring tearily at a framed photo of me.” 

You roll your eyes, but your face burns. You did use his shampoo, once. In your defense, you’d run out of yours, but you thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to smell like him, nice and fresh and comforting. It had foamed more than you expected. It did smell really nice, but it made your hair feel dry (boy shampoo always does that, you’ve no idea how James’ curls seem to thrive under such poor treatment) and you felt silly about it for days, lovesick in the most derogatory sense. 

Didn’t stop you from sniffing your hair occasionally, though. 

“You weren’t gone to war,” you reply. “And where would I get a framed photo of you?” 

James looks affronted. “I assumed you already had one. How did you get through the weekend without even a photo? You brave, brave girl.” 

“I actually threw a rager,” you deadpan. “Rented out your room to six people traveling through with the carnival and let them invite over all their friends. Did loads of hard drugs.” 

“Well, we all have different ways of coping.” He reaches over to squeeze your shoulder consolingly. You pretend goosebumps don’t skitter all the way down your arm from the brief touch. “And what a marvelous job you’ve done covering up your escapades!” He exclaims as you pull up in front of the apartment. “I haven’t come across the cocaine dust on our bathroom counter yet, so you must have really done a thorough cleanup.” 

“Keep looking, it’s around there somewhere.” 

James laughs. You’re slower getting out of the car than he is, and by the time you emerge he’s in front of you, pulling you into a hug. You think your bones liquefy. He’s warm and strong and he smells like his shampoo, both arms squishing you heartily before he lets go with a little laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says, bringing his hands to your upper arms, “I didn’t even ask. I just missed you, you know?” James has this look on his face, smile brilliant and eyes wide open. So saccharine sweet you almost can’t look at him. “Guess I got used to having you around.” 

You do your best to smile back. “Yeah, me too.” 

He squeezes your arms before turning to go inside. “You smell like Italian food, too. I don’t suppose you’ve cooked anything recently that’s still in the fridge? I’m beginning to think about second dinner.” 

[coryndoll]

waking up to you

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: swearing, pretty safe !! lowkey i rushed thru im sorry LMAO

authors note: okay ik im a little late with an update and its kind of shorter but i wanted to get out a part asap. im rewatching the 100 rn and ugh. anyway if u arent part of the tag list yet, feel free to let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

previous next

you sit at the small table across from rafe, your fork hovering above your plate, but your attention keeps drifting toward the large window facing the street. you can’t help it. john b and jj were out there earlier, just hanging around.

it didn’t seem like they would come in, but you still feel uneasy. your eyes flicker to the entrance every few minutes, waiting for them to either walk in or disappear.

“stop glancin’ at the damn window, y/n, i can . . . feel your worry from here," rafe mutters, his voice low and rough, but there’s a hint of something softer there. he doesn’t even look up from his plate, just keeps cutting into his food like it’s nothing, but his words hit you harder than they should.

you blink a few times, then drop your gaze to your plate, the food suddenly less appetizing. it’s not like you can explain it to him—that you’re afraid of seeing john b or jj or that they might somehow sense that you’re not the same y/n they used to know. you’re not sure they’d even care, but the thought of facing them right now, of fumbling through some conversation, makes your stomach twist.

still, you force yourself to eat, to appear normal, though the tension buzzing between your shoulders doesn’t fade.

when you and rafe finally step out of the cafe, your eyes immediately search the street for the van. you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you see that it’s gone. maybe they left. maybe they figured it wasn’t worth it. either way, relief washes over you, but it’s fleeting. you get into the car quickly, a little too quickly, as if you’re still afraid they might show up.

rafe slides in beside you, his movements slower, more casual, and turns the key in the ignition. the engine roars to life, but the radio stays off, just like it was earlier.

the drive home is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the car as it rolls down the streets. you stare out the window, trying to keep your mind from spiraling, but the silence feels suffocating. eventually, you speak, your voice hesitant, unsure, “remind me why ward and rose hate me again?”

you regret the question the moment it leaves your mouth. you should know why. y/n would know exactly what’s going on between her and rafe’s parents. but you’re not her, and you need answers.

you hold your breath, waiting for his response, and in your peripheral, you see him furrow his brows, his hand on your thigh loosening like he’s pulling back, even just a little.

for a second, you think you’ve blown it, that he’s going to catch on, but then he speaks.

“they don’t hate you,” he says, his tone sharper than before. “they just . . . my dad thinks you’re in it for the money, remember? the cameron wealth. he just doesn’t trust you. and you know how rose is. she just agrees with him as long as she gets her allowance from ward cameron.” there’s a bitterness in his voice when he says his father’s name, like it’s coated in something darker. “seems a bit fucking hypocritical if you ask me.”

in it for the money? the words bounce around your head, disorienting you. you weren’t expecting that. your eyes drop to the dashboard, and you try to wrap your mind around what he’s saying, but it feels wrong. that’s what they think about her. not you. it’s hard to remind yourself of that, to separate yourself from the y/n everyone else knows.

at least, that’s what you think this is. that there was a version of you living in this world, the right version. but something must’ve been two nights ago and there was just . . . you don’t know. you can’t accept that this life is yours. you’ve never lived it.

you hesitate, then whisper, “do you . . . agree with them?”

the question hangs in the air between you, and for a second, you think he’s not going to answer. but then the car comes to a sudden stop as he pulls up in front of the house, slamming on the brakes harder than necessary. he turns toward you, eyes sharp, focused. there’s a pause, a heavy silence.

“no,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “i don’t. you know that.”

you look at him, trying to read his expression, trying to understand why he’s so sure. there’s something there in his eyes, something unspoken that makes your chest tighten. but you don’t push. instead, you just nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.

you step into the house and the door clicks shut behind you. the echo of your footsteps fades as you make your way upstairs, shoes dangling from your fingers by their backs.

when you reach rafe’s room, you drop the shoes in the closet with a soft thud and let yourself fall back onto the bed. the mattress bounces slightly under your weight, the cool sheets brushing against your skin as you settle in. you fish your phone out of your back pocket, unlocking it with a quick swipe.

a few notifications pop up on the screen—most of them unimportant, just the usual, but two names catch your eye. one from your mother, another two from jj.

your thumb hovers over jj’s messages first, curiosity or maybe just habit pushing you to open them: ‘ hey how u been? ’ followed by another message, ‘ saw u at driftwood lol ’

you grimace. please stop talking to me, you think, and you almost consider typing that out for him, but you just swipe the conversation away. it feels wrong, ignoring him, but it’s safer this way. at least for now.

you tap on your mom’s message, her name flashing up on the screen. it’s a simple ‘ hello? ’ sent after a previous message asking if you wanted to video call tonight. guilt tugs at you for not answering sooner, but you quickly type a response: ‘ i’ll be there ’

you drop the phone onto your chest and close your eyes, the tension slowly leaving your body.

rafe comes into the room just a minute after, dragging his feet as he enters, and flops down on the bed beside you with a heavy sigh. he’s on his back, his arms thrown up to rub his eyes. the weight of the day is already too much, you can tell.

you roll onto your side to face him, watching the rise and fall of his chest for a second. he looks tired—more than tired—and for some reason, you feel this sudden pull to comfort him. maybe it’s because you’re realizing that you’re stuck here for longer than you ever imagined, or maybe it’s because, despite everything, there’s something grounding about feeling him next to you. something real.

you slide your hand over his stomach, feeling the firm muscle under his t-shirt, and trail your fingers up to his neck. his skin is warm, smooth.

he smells like fresh ocean air mixed with something expensive—sandalwood, maybe, and a hint of cedar. it’s clean, masculine, and comforting in its own strange way. your hand rests against the side of his face, and you lean in, pressing your cheek lightly to his shoulder, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize it. the scent of him feels like an anchor to this new world, even if you don’t fully belong in it.

rafe’s eyes flutter shut, his face softening under your touch, and after a quiet moment, he murmurs, "i love you."

the words catch you off guard. you blink, your heart skipping for a second as reality slams into you. you don’t really know him—at least not this version of him. not like that. and yet, you have to play the part, don’t you?

“i love you,” you mumble back, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, like they don’t belong to you. but even as they leave your lips, your mind is already spinning, thoughts racing faster than you can keep up.

a million things zip through your head at once—what if this is it? what if you never find a way home? what if you’re stuck here forever, living this life that doesn’t belong to you, loving a man who isn’t really yours?

it’s terrifying—the possibility that you might grow attached to this place, that you might actually start to like it. and then what? if you ever do go home, what happens? will you feel crushed by the weight of leaving it all behind? will you go insane, trying to navigate two lives, two versions of reality?

maybe you have nothing to worry about. maybe everything will work itself out.

but maybe you have everything to worry about.

you sit up slowly from the bed, careful not to disturb rafe as he drifts deeper into sleep. you slip away from him quietly, your feet making no sound as you pad across the room to his desk. sitting down, you lean forward, resting your elbows on the cool surface, and run your fingers through your hair. you’re tired—bone-tired—but sleep feels far away, unreachable. you need something, anything, to distract you.

your eyes open lazily, glancing at the surface of the desk. it's clean, organized, too neat, really, for someone like rafe. there’s not much on it aside from a few pieces of mail. you sift through them halfheartedly—most of it is boring stuff, some bank letters, a couple of magazines.

some are even addressed to you. they’re opened already, though, and there’s nothing of importance. not that you expected there to be.

pushing yourself up from the desk, you wander around the room. it’s yours too, right? or at least it feels that way, with how much space you apparently take up.

your fingers trail along the dresser, the faint creaking of the drawer breaking the silence as you pull it open. inside, neatly folded, are your clothes—well, her clothes. the y/n from this universe. it feels strange, surreal, knowing this other version of you needed extra room for her things. maybe she had more stuff and she just wanted more space.

your mind drifts back to what rafe said earlier. that ward and rose didn’t like you. didn’t trust you. they thought you were just after their money, like some kind of gold digger. you snort at the thought—it’s ironic, really. considering how ward and rafe were obsessed with finding literal treasure in the show. maybe everyone in this family, including her, were a little too focused on gold.

closing the drawer, you step toward the closet, opening it just as carefully. it’s split down the middle, half filled with rafe’s clothes, the other half with yours. the dresser must’ve just been for overflow.

you shake your head, closing it softly and moving back toward the bed, your gaze trailing toward your phone. it's sitting on the bed next to rafe, tempting you, but the thought of waking him just to grab it doesn’t feel worth it.

you sit down on the floor instead, crossing your legs and staring blankly at the room around you. bored. that’s all you are—bored and stuck.

your choices are limited. you can’t go downstairs and risk running into ward or rose, can’t hang out with anyone yet, and leaving for a drive without telling rafe seems . . . wrong. maybe this universe’s y/n felt the same way. maybe she felt isolated here, bored out of her mind. maybe she lost it at some point. maybe—

god, stop, you think to yourself, shaking your head.

you stare at the floor for a while, trying to focus on the wood grain beneath your fingers, but your gaze eventually drifts to something under the bed. boxes, mostly, a couple of old board games, but something else catches your attention. something wedged between two boxes.

curious, you lean down and reach for it, your fingers brushing against the cover of what looks like a journal. you pull it out, wiping a thin layer of dust from the top as you grimace. “gross,” you mutter under your breath. guess rafe doesn’t clean under the bed often.

lying down on your stomach, you run your hand along the outside of the journal. it’s worn but intact, the pages thick and sturdy under your fingertips. you never took rafe as the journaling type—he doesn’t seem like someone who would sit down and pour his thoughts onto paper. but here it is, in your hands. something personal. something that might give you a glimpse into his mind, this world, this version of him.

you hesitate for a moment, staring at the journal as your thumb traces the edge of it.

you open it, flipping past the first few pages with a lazy flick of your fingers. the familiar scent of old paper wafts up, and you wrinkle your nose at it. laying your head on your fist, you hold the journal open with one hand, skimming the neat, familiar handwriting.

it’s strange seeing rafe’s thoughts laid out like this—stranger still because you never imagined him as someone who would keep a journal at all.

but he does. and he’s detailed.

each page is filled top to bottom, crammed with his thoughts, feelings, and observations. day after day, entry after entry. it’s more than you expected, almost overwhelming in its depth. he didn’t just write about major events or things that stood out—no, he captured everything. the small details. the mundane moments. he seemed obsessed with recording every second of his life.

as you glance at the dates, your brows furrow. the entries are more recent than you thought they’d be. flipping back to the beginning of the journal, you see that it starts in early may. a sharp contrast to what you remember from your own life—your real life—where you had left in the middle of september. it’s jarring. maybe time works differently here.

and then, something else catches your attention: the handwriting.

it’s familiar. too familiar. not just because it’s rafe’s, but because there’s something about the way the letters curve, the way the words flow across the page.

you sit up a little straighter, squinting as you begin to properly read through the entries. your eyes scan the first entry dated may 12.

‘ 05/12

i don’t know why i’m even bothering to write this down. everyone says journaling is supposed to help or whatever, but all i feel is frustrated. it’s like everyone around me has it together, and i’m the one constantly getting in my own way. or maybe they’re the ones in my way. i don’t know. it’s hard to tell these days.

i’m trying, though. i think? i mean, isn’t this part of trying to get better? to work through my issues instead of ignoring them? i just don’t get why it feels like such a chore. i’ve spent so long pretending everything’s fine, so maybe that’s why this whole “self-reflection” thing is pissing me off. i’m not used to it. i’m not used to being told that i need to change, when i feel like i’ve been doing fine. they’re the ones who need to stop acting like i’m the problem. i’m not perfect, sure, but who is?

whatever. maybe i’m just overthinking it. i know i need to be better, but it’s hard when people keep pushing me into a corner, expecting me to react the same way i always have. i don’t want to be that person anymore, but it’s like, what’s the point of trying to change when no one’s even going to notice? or worse—they’re gonna keep treating me like i’m the same person no matter what i do.

i don’t know. this is stupid. but maybe it’ll help if i keep writing. or maybe not. we’ll see. ’

you blink at the page, your brow furrowing in confusion. why is rafe trying to change? change from what?

you try to shake off the unease and flip through the pages, skipping a few until you reach another entry. this one’s dated august 3rd.

‘ 08/03

i swear, sometimes i feel like no matter how hard i try, people just refuse to see it. today was fucking awful. jj and i got into it again, and i don’t even know how it got so bad so fast. i’ve been trying to be better. i’ve been trying to show up, to listen, to be the kind of friend everyone says i should be. but jj? he just doesn’t get it. he always wants to bring up the past, like i haven’t already said sorry a million times. like i haven’t tried to make up for everything. what more do they want from me?*

and the worst part is, he made me feel like i’m the bad guy. like i’m still the same selfish, narcissistic person from months ago. but i’m not. or at least, i’m trying not to be. but how am i supposed to change when people like him just won’t let me? he said i’ve been a bad friend. me? a bad friend? maybe i haven’t been perfect, but who has? i’m doing the best i can, and it’s not like everyone else is a saint. but no, it’s always me who gets the blame.

honestly, i think jj just made everything worse. i was starting to feel like i was making progress, and now? i don’t know. i feel like i’m back to square one. all i wanted was to fix things, to show i’ve changed, and instead i’m just stuck here, trying to explain myself to someone who clearly doesn’t care.

whatever. i’m done trying to explain myself. if people don’t want to see that i’m trying, then that’s their problem, not mine. ’

your heart races as you read the entry. wait . . . this is familiar. the mention of jj. hold on.

you flip through a smaller chunk of pages, eager to find the last written entry, and stop on september 17.

‘ 09/17

i’ve done everything i can. i’ve changed. i know i’ve changed, but no one else seems to think so. it’s like no matter what i do, i’m still the same person in their eyes. the selfish one, the one who only cares about herself. it’s not fair. i’ve been working so hard to be better, to be different. but every time i walk into a room, it’s like they’re waiting for me to mess up again. waiting for me to be the person they’ve decided i am.

i just wish they’d give me a break. i’m not that person anymore. or at least, i’m trying not to be. it’s exhausting, having to prove myself over and over again. i thought things would be different by now. i thought people would see that i’m not the same. but all i get are those looks. like i’ve done something unforgivable. like i’m still the villain in their story, no matter how hard i’ve tried to rewrite mine.

i don’t know what else to do. i’m tired of fighting for people to see me. maybe i’ll never be enough for them. maybe they’re just waiting for me to screw up again, to prove that i haven’t changed at all. but i have. i have changed. i know it.

god, i just wish i could do something big. something to show them all at once that i’m not who i used to be. i’m better now. i just don’t know how to make them believe it. ’

your blood runs cold as you read the last line. panic surges through you, and you glance around the room as if seeking an escape. you scan the pages, your eyes racing over the words, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

you were absolutely wrong. this isn’t rafe’s journal.

this is hers.

@v2los @cosmixstar @meeuhsworld @httpsdrewstarkey @lovdrew @lilithblackkk @rovckwells @cherrylooney @iissza @namelesslosers @cocolovey @rafeyswrd @odairtrqsh @gretag13 @vivian-555 @lunaleah @smol-coffee-addict @twinge-vix @behindviolettwrites @avngrssckr @stonerroadbull @cali-888 @coquettajob @simpingcorner @nymphetkoo @pinkpantheris @ilyrafe @romaescapes @cold-soup1223 @inaluvrsworld @rafesweetie @faephoria @solo-pitstop-vibes @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @drewsephrry @sgecorrow @rafesgiirl @ravisinghs-wife @booksntings @tinyfairies @maybankslover @honeyluvsatj @darleneslane @alysaaaa444 @w4nnabeurs @watersquirtpewpewboomm @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[covetyou]

kissogram

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Teen (18+ only blog!) warnings: drunk Joel, soft possessive Joel, lovesick Joel, wingman Tommy, fluff, idiots in love and in denial word count: 1.8k summary: A familiar sound wakes you from the soft slumber you'd not long fallen into - sounds you'd dreamed about in the months since meeting Joel Miller. This time, as you creep down the stairs to come face-to-face with your intruder, you can be certain it's not a man decked out in plush red velvet.

A/N: happy birthday to Joel Miller, happy TLOU day to us, and, most importantly, happy GOD DAMN IT ARE YOU CLOSE TO SAYING YOU LOVE EACH OTHER YET day to these two babies.

I'll be back with more dress up!Joel in 5 weeks 💛

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

A familiar sound wakes you from the soft slumber you'd not long fallen into. The click of a door. The woosh of your house decompressing. Muffled footsteps. They were sounds that your own ears hadn't heard in months, and yet ones you'd heard a hundred times over in your dreams since that first day you met Joel, decked out in plush red velvet in front of your Christmas tree.

It's why, when you fully come to and pull yourself up onto your elbows, you find yourself blinking in confusion in the dark. Dreams and reality are tricky things to figure out when you're on the precipice of both. And, while the sound of foreign footsteps on your living room floor was something you dreamed about - fantasized about - a feeling of unease is quickly creeping up your spine the longer you listen to the hushed tones coming from downstairs.

Whatever - whoever - it is, isn't even trying to be discreet, not by the way your door suddenly slams and something rattles against the wall.

You don't even try to be discreet either, jumping from your bed and stomping over to the door. It's stupid, maybe. Probably.

Almost definitely.

The first time may have worked out well for you by creeping down to find Joel in your house, but that didn't mean any other break-in was going to go as well for you. Now, all these months later, you didn't even have your old umbrella to arm yourself with as you throw open the door and fly downstairs, hoping the element of surprise will save you.

Slamming your hand against the wall, you drench your living room in artificial light so suddenly your eyes can barely adjust before you're screaming out into the room in a feeble attempt to scare off your intruders.

"Get ou- what the fuck?!"

"Jesu-"

"Fu-"

The scene in front of you is a mess. Mail you'd left on your coffee table earlier is strewn all over the floor, your bowl of knick-knacks over turned in the middle, and two of your sofa cushions dumped onto the floor.

Most baffling of all are the people in the room. You know them. Of course you do. Who else would it be. Joel Miller is stood - or rather, he's being propped up - in your living room, gripping onto his brother as he desperately tries to keep his legs beneath him.

"Tommy? Joel? What the fuck are you two doing here?"

Joel, who by now has caught the sound of your voice, has stopped trying to keep himself upright, and is instead staring dozily at you, a lopsided smile spreading across his face. Tommy, meanwhile, is now taking almost the full weight of his older brother, and suffering for it, barely keeping his own legs from buckling as grunts and groans.

"I dropped him home but he - shit man you're heavy, stop it - he kept wanderin' this way. Kept askin' about a goodnight kiss. Told him I'd give 'im one but -"

"Hi," Joel cuts in suddenly, slurring around the simple greeting as he moves toward you despite Tommy's protests.

"Joel," you say in warning, as the broad man stumbles toward you on drunken feet.

In response, he raises a single finger, clearly much slower than he intended to, and the smile on his face spreads even wider.

"No."

"No? What? Joel, look I think you sho-"

"Birthday Joel. 'm Birthday Joel," he grins, and you can't help but supress a laugh. This is maybe his most lackluster costume yet. He has a crumpled party hat on and the same clothes you saw him leave in earlier this evening, and it makes you wonder how long he's been keeping that one in tonight - whether he told his friends the same thing down at the bar, or if he'd been holding it back just to tell you. By the proud look on his face, and Tommy's confusion, you suspect the latter.

"Hey there, Birthday Joel," you say with a soft smile. "Now, what're you doing over here and not at your own place? It's late, Joel. I said I'd see you in a couple of days -"

"Birthday Joel deserves a birthday kiss."

You raise your eyebrow at him, stopping his stumbled wobble in its tracks. "Deserves?"

"Wants. I jus' - I jus' wanted to kiss you," he breathes, looking down at your mouth with another smile so soft your breath leaves you in a quiver as you try not to embarrass yourself by letting loose the bubble of affection sitting in your belly.

Naturally, you'd given Birthday Joel plenty of kisses earlier today - a day that technically wasn't even his birthday yet - before Tommy came to pick him up. You'd given him so many kisses he was almost late out the door to his own birthday drinks. Tommy had rolled his eyes then just as he is now, slapping his brother on the back and steadying him all in one move.

"Told you, man," Tommy says. "She wouldn't 'ppreciate bein' woken up just to kiss your ugly ass."

Tommy winks at you, and tries to manouvere Joel toward the door, but Joel, somehow speedy despite his drunkenness, manages to round back to you, arms spread and ready to envelope you in a hug before he stops himself and instead delicately grabs your hands.

"Jus'... Jus' missed you," he hiccups. "Missed - missed my girls."

"Okay, Prince Charmin', I'm tired, you're drunk, we all gotta sleep, let's go."

"Tommy?" you say, letting Joel's thumbs caress the back of your hands as he holds them, refusing to let go even as Tommy tries, and fails, to tug him toward the door once more. "I can drop him home, if you wanna get goin'?"

For a second, it looks like Tommy's ready to object, determined to get his brother back home and in bed, just like he promised. But then he looks at his brother, and the lovesick look on his face, and decides to leave well enough alone.

"I'll see you at dinner tomorrow," he says to Joel. "Sarah's bein' dropped off at-"

"At ten, I know," he slurs. "Miss her. Missed you. My girls."

After a minute of prising your hands out of Joel's, you see Tommy out, walking with him to your door. The spare house key you'd entrusted to Joel months ago is deposited safely into your hand, before he wishes you luck with the birthday boy, and jogs the short distance through the darkness to his truck and zips away into the night. Joel, who you'd left unattended for all of two minutes, has already taken it upon himself to flop down onto your couch, and is fighting a losing battle with his drooping head as you approach.

"C'mere," he mumbles with a wobble to his head, hands making a reach for you.

"You're still after that kiss, huh?"

"Uh-huh," he says, grinning again as you hinge, bringing your face close to his.

His eyes flutter closed before you even close the distance, pressing soft kisses to the corners of his smiling mouth, before pressing a softer, lingering kiss to his lips.

"That good enough for you, Birthday Joel?" you whisper.

"Mm. S'good. Missed you."

"You've said that already."

"S'true."

"I'm gonna get you some water, sober you up a bit before I get you home."

Joel is asleep on his side, legs pulled up onto the couch, when you come back with water. You doubted you'd get him home tonight, with the state he's in, but you were at least hoping to get him upstairs and into bed, where he could better sleep off whatever demons were coming for him in the morning. As he starts to snore, face pressed into the couch cushion, you're suddenly very grateful that he won't make it up the stairs.

You tidy up the small tornado of mess that's torn through your living room. Mail is picked up and put where you should've left it in the first place, the bowl is righted and its contents replaced, the cushions are shoved back on the couch. Assessing the man himself, you soon realise there's no way you're getting him comfortable without waking him, so you prod his side, waiting until he wakes before whispering gently to him.

"Joel? Let me get this shit off you," you say, tugging at his shoes.

For all his drunkenness, he does try to help. He fumbles with his belt buckle, getting it halfway undone before his frustrated grunts turn to curses, and your hands replace his. In no time his belt is off, and he's kicking off his pants, reaching for you and dragging you to sit beside him again.

"Joel, you're drunk, we're not playing -"

"Jus' a kiss," he asks, tapping his cheek with a smile that crinkles his eyes.

It's impossible not to give in, or smile too as you press your lips to his cheek and he hums softly, already letting sleep claw back at him.

"'Nother one," he says, as his eyes droop.

"You're drunk, Joel. You should sleep."

"Not Drunk Joel - Birthday Joel," he mumbles, with a sleepy smile as you pull off his crumpled birthday hat and toss it aside.

"Then get some sleep, Birthday Joel."

You stand, your weight shifting off the couch and jostling Joel, his head already so heavy with sleep it wobbles to the side. His hand still finds yours though - pulling you to a stop as you try to creep back upstairs.

"Come to dinner? Tomorrow? Come meet Sarah," he asks, brave with sleep. "Want - both m'girls there."

He'd hesitated asking you all week. You could tell by the way he stumbled over the words each time he explained his birthday plans - bar with the boys the night before, dinner and a movie with Sarah and Tommy on the big day. The lengthy pauses had been filled with an invitation he could never quite get out, and you didn't want to fill in the blanks yourself.

He's dozing, already mostly asleep, by the time you can even answer him. So, instead you stroke softly at his hair, watching as his whole body suddenly gives in to sleep, giving him a final kiss on his cheek, and whispering in his ear;

"Ask me again in the morning, Birthday Joel. Ask me then, and I'll say yes."

In the morning, when you're both sipping coffee and Joel is nursing a hangover the likes of which he's never seen, you don't expect him to keep to words he was too tired to hear. But, he does, not meeting your eye as the words he was never brave enough to say until last night come spilling out once more.

And, just like you said you would, you say yes.

next part

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

@youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123

@valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather

@stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @joelsdagger

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Escalating

"Should I really have to suffer for my actions?"

Previous SessionSession 2 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Patient Gojo displayed extremely flirtatious and unruly behavior during the first half of his visit. Mentions of escape and kid-napping were noted as well as enforced close proximity with his nurse. Threatening remarks were also made at the end of his lunch in response to mentions of disciplinary action. Patient is scheduled for a bath but is pending the possibility of negative punishment to instill corrective behaviors. 📋Length of Session (w.c): 8.1k out of "i said we will cross that bridge when we get to it 😊" 💊Intake Chart (tags): mild violence but no in-action descriptors, coercion, manipulation, drug use, angst, unwatched close contact and touch, nudity, mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️Doctor's angel’s note: i hope you know what you're doing, Nurse 🎼Waiting room music: Overheated|Billie Eilish

Choose wisely.

Hunger stirs in your tummy, and Gojo's words sit with you through lunch. Your spoon clinks around the bowl, stirring the soup growing colder by the second though the growls from your stomach are too obnoxious to be ignored. But your mind wanders.

You're stuck. Earlier, you were all for serving up justice on a silver platter, but now you're seriously second-guessing your "genius" idea to punish Gojo by making him someone else's problem.

As if anyone would be crazy enough to say yes.

Everyone already avoids his wing like the plague. It's kind of an unspoken fact that you are Gojo's one and only. The only staff he allows near him. Anyone else would be playing with fire.

And if someone was brave enough to willingly throw themselves into the lion's den, they definitely couldn't be new. New to nursing—new to the ward. High expertise was needed here. Someone seasoned—experience which you lacked yourself—otherwise, they wouldn't last a second with Gojo.

It'd be way too easy for him to make them snap, like tossing a bone to a dog.

"Persephone." Yuko brings you out of your coma.

You perk up, instinctively smiling. "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me," she snorts. "You've been playing with your food like break isn't over in 10 minutes." She touches your arm. "Everything ok?"

It's written all over your face, huh? You could deflate right now.

This is why Yuko is your favorite co-worker. Always reading you like a book without you needing to say a word. Quick to call anything off out.

Leaning back in your chair, you huff, rubbing circles into your temples to relieve the headache you didn't know you had.

"Yeah, yeah," you begin, "It's just—" You stop, her eyes hold so much concern and you've barely opened your mouth. Not sure if you should now because you know what kind of person Yuko is.

And if she knew even half of what you don't tell her during your lunch breaks spent complaining about work, she'd hang Gojo out to dry if she could. She often makes it very clear she hates you have to deal with him at all.

"—I'm just a bit tired. Gojo's scheduled for a bath later, him and two others. Gojo's easy but...I don't know. I feel slower than usual today. Definitely won't get home until late, again, because of all these sponge baths." You cringe at the last part.

Aside from trying to keep Yuko cool, you also didn't want to risk the news getting back to the Director who could take you off of Gojo completely. No one else could take your place. And who knows what would happen if you disappeared from his roster for good?

How would his threats manifest?

Yuko scoffs, waving her hand.

"Gojo and easy do not go together," and you both shake your heads and laugh. "But I get it. You did come in super early."

"Thought there'd be less of us," you sigh.

"Sonya's been on our asses lately, right? But hey, she finally got us all here."

"A little too late. The damage is done," you pout, resting your elbows on the table, realizing you've accidentally grown used to chaos and ever-changing schedule.

You routinely plan ahead to make sure you can stand up when people fall short. Constantly putting yourself on the back burner seems to be a thing that always set you back.

"Sooo, you just need rest, ya? Nothing else? Gojo—" there it goes "—been 'okay' with you lately?"

Your heart skips. "Ya. he isn't so bad today," you lie, "I'd just love to be home on time for once. Maybe even a bit early, I'm soo close. Overtime's been wringing my neck for weeks."

Yuko looks at you with puppy dog eyes. And not in a "I feel sorry for you" kind of way, but one that almost makes you feel bad for not telling her the whole truth.

"Here," she pushes your soup towards you, "How about I do Gojo's bath and you get an early start on my last two? That way you can at least binge that show you won't shut up about later." She smiles.

You immediately protest.

There's no way you can do that to her.

Yuko never even crossed your mind and was far from your first pick, not because she couldn't handle him but because she was your friend. Not just a colleague, but someone you actually cared about more than anyone else in this run-down job even if she didn't feel the same.

She's too good of a person, and you'd be the Devil Incarnate if you let her do something so risky. Especially when you can just suck it up and get it over with.

"Woah, woah, it's just a bath, calm down," she says, taking your hands in hers as you ramble on trying to convince her that you'll be fine or that you'll find someone else.

Burdening her was completely out of the question.

"Who else but me, Seph'? You don't you think I'm as good as you?" And the way she says it, giving you that look she does when you're being stubborn, dares you to challenge her.

Now you really had to think about what to say.

Goddamn it, you regret saying anything at all, but Yuko's so motherly, how could you resist? Hiding from her is impossible, she would've sniffed you out sooner or later.

Easing your pains when she could was her specialty—helping to calm and settle you down when you're quick to blow things out of proportion.

Could this be one of those moments? Or were Gojo's words more than just hot air?

The back and forth was killing you, but the combination of Yuko's reassuring touch and your gurgling stomach put the final nail in the coffin as she reminded you of the time.

Eyes wide, you look at the clock, ticking away faster than you realized, then back at your lukewarm soup.

Denying that you needed help would be silly because technically it was true. You probably should've asked the Director for a little Gojo break long ago, even if just for a few hours a few times a week. It was better than nothing because if you couldn't function, Gojo couldn't be cared for.

And when you really think about it, who better to fill in for you than Yuko?

The gutsy woman has been your rock since you started at the ward, She's had your back, sticking with you through tough times at work when staff constantly dipped in and out of the facility like a rotating door after being unable to handle the job.

A real day one.

Next to you, she's the most competent nurse in these walls, fully equipped with a "take-no-shit" attitude that routinely keeps her patiently in check.

It'd be silly, downright irresponsible to trust anyone else.

Her offer is simply too good to dismiss.

"Thank you, Yuko," you cave, grabbing your spoon and finally allowing yourself to enjoy your meal. "You're...amazing. I don't deserve you."

She looks on happily. "Just promise me you'll take some personal time after this," she insists, worry evident in her voice. "We both know how much you care, but even superheroes need rest."

She's too kind and right in more ways than one.

"Besides, I think Gojo will like me, ya? I'm cool. I'm fun. He'll like a friend of friend, you think?"

Your eyes roll—ya, totally, cool people definitely say they're cool.

You don't know whether to joke back or wave her off, softly smiling at her concern instead before nodding. You vow to make good on your promise and feel a bit lighter knowing your wish for early release will actually come true.

Maybe.

The latest threat to your miracle in the making is Mr. Hampton, who is personally making it his business to drag the already long day by its edges. Almost bringing time to a standstill with the way he's handling his bath.

Enormous and lumbering, the man Yuko usually deals with took his sweet time gathering his things and even longer trekking down the seemingly endless halls leading to the bathing area. Occupying every inch of the space like those massive trucks on the interstate, hogging the road, yet inching along at a pace that makes a snail look like it's in a sprint.

All that was missing were the yellow hazard lights.

Oh no, please, take your time, you think, watching Mr. Hampton clean each limb painstakingly s l o w in a tub that's comically too small for him. You may have been able to rush through Yuko's first patient, but this one wanted all that time back.

His pace resembles a giant's, and his cheerful nonsensical hums echo around the hollow chambers, lulling you to sleep, turning your eyes into bricks under the spell of the melody. Perfect timing for the energy drinks from early to crash you out, tag teaming with the chair beneath you that feels a bit too soft as you lean over the tub, willing the colossal man to hurry up.

Warm water flows over your skin as you scrub circles on his neck, deciding to bite the bullet and take over the bath so he can play with the foamy bubbles, when you hear a blood-curdling scream.

Your entire body goes rigid, shock reverberating through your spine and forcing you to halt as your mind goes blank. But steamy water brings you back to life, drenching your shirt and upper thighs when Mr. Hampton jumps from surprise.

The rude awakening makes you lock in.

The scream. It sounds like...no, you know it came from the west wing...where Gojo is.

And Yuko.

Hurried steps rush past your door, sounds of multidirectional distress and frantic shouts echoing through the corridor—staff members and patients alike swept into a whirlwind of panic.

You're number one, dropping the scrubber and scrambling to help Mr. Hampton out of the tub, hands shaking as he grips them.

A security guard bursts into the room, face ashen and jaw tight.

"Nurse! We need everyone in the west wing, immediately!" The command is sharp, laced with an urgency you've never seen before.

And immediately feel responsible for.

"There's been an incident."

Without another thought, you wrap Mr. Hampton in a towel, trying your best to assure him that everything is fine when your obviously trembling body said nothing was. His confused gaze follows you as you lead him back to his room, the commotion in the air moving him a lot faster than earlier before you rush back out heading straight for the west wing—where chaos reigns supreme.

The usually pristine floors, normally squeaky clean floors due to lack of traffic, are now barely visible. Staff members crowd the familiar hall for the first time since Gojo made it his own, filling the space with more bodies than you were used to and making it difficult to find the source of trouble.

Not like you needed to. The truth is painfully clear.

It's disrespectful even to even pretend you don't know exactly what went wrong, and your heart feels as if it'll burst from your chest any moment now just thinking about it. Crushing guilt wrapped you in its clutches, but it was nothing compared to the pain you might've caused.

You push through the masses, clumsily bumping shoulders, heart beating into your ears making the world seem quiet as you inch closer and closer to disaster. Dragging imaginary shackles on your feet with each step until you all but collapse once you spot it.

Gojo—barely restrained by guards, straitjacket nowhere in sight—standing absolutely furious.

And for the first time today, time seems to slow down, your mouth becoming suddenly dry mouth when you look past him.

Yuko.

Halfway out the door to his room. Sprawled out on the ground. Bruised, unconscious, and no signs of breathing.

Your hands fly to your lips, mouth agape. Murmurs from the crowd swirl around you as attendants rush to Yuko's side, knocking into your pathetic frame as you stand too frozen to move.

They gently pick her up, careful to handle her motionless body and place her on a stretcher. Her usually vibrant face is drained of color, twisting the dagger in your chest when you spot the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Fighting for breath.

Fighting.

It hits you like a hammer.

Someone as kind as her, so full of light, love, and joy, always greeting you with warmth and empathy and capacity every time she sees you, should never have to lift a finger let alone fight for her life. The sight is too much to bear.

Waves of helplessness crash over you and you can't even look at her. Regretting with every ounce of your being that you sent her in your place. Knowing this could happen. Concerned only with your silly wants and needs.

But you're so confused.

The ward should have weakened Gojo—Yuko should have been fine. The only threat Gojo has up his sleeve is mental torture but Yuko might as well be Freud. Her mind is sound, strong.

And that's where you fucked up, forgetting that Gojo's pure strength, especially when he's lost his fucking mind and triggered, is stronger.

Even with his security system in place, the devil was still powerful enough on his own. And like this was some sick and twisted experiment to figure that out, Yuko was the one to pay the price.

"I warned, I WARNED YOU!" Gojo's words pierce the overlapping voices like a sword, drawing everyone's attention to the strange interaction between the two of you. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Nurse." Guards struggle to restrain him as he tugs and pulls away.

All eyes fall on you and you can feel the tense stares. The unspoken judgment.

Why was Yuko here in the first place?Where was Seph’?How’d he get out?How did this happen? 

You don’t know if the murmurs are real or only in your head, but the effect is all the same, making you wish you could completely vanish.  You stand like a deer in headlights—and they're so fucking bright.

Gojo brims with malice and amusement, chaotic energy pulsing from the hellish man and threatening to send sparks flying. As if he's daring someone to be brave and push the button.

But despite his outward display of dominance, the pure rage on his face making you feel sick to your stomach about every decision you've ever made, something...uncertain lurks behind those fiery eyes.

Something like...apprehension.

Like he knew he had done something wrong.

Words escape you, as if anything even needs to or could be said. But fear and guilt soon turn to anger and threatens to consume you. Ready to eat you alive and spit out the bones with disgust.

You are not a victim.

You have no right to stand here, spineless, shocked, or feeling even a little sorry for yourself.

Your fists clench as you hold back tears. 

What was done was done. And someone needed to pay.

But you exhale, thoughts shifting to Yuko as you take a good look around at the results of what happened the last time you decided to punish Gojo. All of your actions, even now, rooted in selfishness. Like you've learned nothing.

You push down the knot growing in your stomach and turn away to follow the medics.

Your friend needed you more than you needed revenge.

And Gojo didn't deserve any more of your attention, even if it meant risking your job or even your life to turn your back on him.

And there's nothing Gojo hates more than being ignored.

Struggled and strained noises grow louder. Guards tighten their grip on the fuming man whose raw strength outnumbered thousands of them even without his cursed energy.

You look back, their determination to keep him contained makes you nervous—you don't want anyone else to get hurt and Gojo knows that.

You're painfully aware that your decisions have put you in this position, watching the guards' valiant but increasingly pointless effort to prevent Gojo from causing further harm.

But it's an obviously losing fight, and the unease on their faces is unmistakably clear.

You wonder why they don't just run like hell.

"Let's go," a guard barks, but Gojo remains fixed in place. Moving a boulder would be easier.

"No, I'm filthy," Gojo protests, smirking, "And if I don't have my bath soon, there will be hell to pay."

He sees no one else in the room, eyes locked only on you, his expression a menacing promise that would send anyone else running for the hills. A look that says, "Try that shit again, and there will be casualties instead of mercy."

Reinforcements are called but it'll never be enough. Not even the goddamn military. Gojo...is the strongest, after all.

"Stop this."

Your cry freezes the room, plunging everything into a tense silence.

You hesitate, fuck, what should you do?

What can you do? No one else can suffer—no one else should suffer. Because of you.

You take a deep, shaky breath, silently apologizing to Yuko.

"I'll do it," you say firmly, "Just stop this and...and I'll give you your bath. Please—" The sharpest pang you've ever felt cuts through you. "—just don't hurt anyone else."

Pathetic.

But necessary.

He looks into your pleading eyes in surprise, amazement even, then smiles.

The submission in your voice sounded better than he could ever imagine. Like sweet music feeding his already inflated ego.

The guards exchange uneasy glances, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

Gojo's strength is undeniable, and it's evident that restraining him forever is not possible.

And you know offering to give him what he wants is risky as hell...but this was your doing. Your mess to clean up.

You squeeze your sweaty palms and give a decisive nod, signaling to the guards to let him go. They hesitate, then reluctantly agree and step back, leaving Gojo standing smugly before you.

You close your eyes and breathe, hating the idea of looking at him, but needing to stay strong. For Yuko. And everyone else in the ward.

Gojo's satisfied grin says it all.

Let's get this over with.

The squeaking of your shoes has never been this loud, each echo bouncing off the empty halls and reminding you of how alone you are.

Alone—with a psychopath.

A bit more docile, doped-up psychopath but, the man could probably still rip someone's head off if he wanted to.

Still Gojo despises anything that alters his body—mentally, physically, all of the above. Alcohol, medication, coffee, energy drinks—anything that threatens his need for absolute control.

But he also needed to compromise, and you refused to be alone with him again unless he took something stronger. Otherwise, it would be you, all the guards in the ward, and a pay-per-view premiere of his bath time.

He knew he had to agree because his ass is not for free, but only if you took it as well.

You blinked, hard.

You knew he would be skeptical—hell, it could be poison, and he wouldn’t blame you. But to suggest something so ridiculous?

"Half, then," he said, as if that made his suggestion any less idiotic, but, surprisingly, as you waited for your supervisor to dismiss the insane idea, the back and forth with Gojo actually didn't save you. And there was no need to ask why. The entire ward shot daggers at you any time someone walked by now.

She reassured you that you'd be fine, the mild tranquilizer would be out of your system by the end of the day, then patted your back as if to say, "lay in the bed you made."

It felt unreal, holding the familiar pill between your fingers, one you were used to dishing out but now had to take.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half, holding the half-pill out to the leering man. Gaze unwavering, he leaned forward and parted his lips, waiting.

You took a deep breath and placed them both on your tongues, but he couldn't pass up this opportunity to feel you and closed his lips around your fingertip with a quick lick before you snatched away.

But it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the tingles shooting up your arm as you swallowed without needing the water you had set aside, a confusing mix of emotions churning as it spread through the rest of your body.

He made good on his promise and swallowed his own, still watching you with a knowing look. And damn him, he's probably still thinking about it.

The guards carefully lead you and Gojo to his private bathroom—they're more there for show than for protection, but you'll take what you can get, and they keep a firm grip on his replacement straitjacket.

You trail behind, mind buried with thoughts of what to say once you're really alone with him.

The door shuts behind you followed by the familiar sound of a series of locks clicking shut. "We'll be right outside," one of the guards mutters, eyes shifting between you and Gojo. A stereotypical hint lacing his voice, but even he probably doesn't believe it.

"Perv," Gojo sneers. And laughs, but you don't find a damn thing funny, keys to his jacket digging into your palms as you spin around the face him, furious. Debating on whether to slap him, kick him, or knock his teeth out. Or be particularly evil and just let him sit in the shower, fully restrained and drenched in cold water. A move you know would do no good but show him exactly how done you are with his shit.

"That isn't funny. None of this is funny. You've hurt someone—you hurt my friend."

His laugh fades, smug expression slipping from his face. Even you're surprised.

...oh shit.

You're actually confronting him.

The intense words burn through his usual arrogance, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence between you.

Then, for a fleeting second, his face does something weird.

Something you haven't seen before as his eyebrows draw together. Is that...regret?

"I'm sorry."

The record scratches.

...the hell is this??

You squint at him.

The words were muttered, reluctant, but there they were, hanging in the air between you.

"It...won't happen again."

And he's serious, the same seriousness you see when his heart races when you take his vitals...but why? Because an apology? From him?? Unheard of.

Gojo has said some nasty things to you in the past that you've immediately scolded him for but he's never apologized. He'd make a note when certain jokes didn't land, but he never took them back, preferring to cut out his own tongue rather than waste his breath being sorry.

You know better than to take anything Gojo says at face value, but...what the fuck??? You almost feel offended.

He has to be joking, fucking with you to dig even deeper under your skin.

Or is he?

Now you don't know how to feel.

He's so good at that. Stealing the air back and hanging his words in them. Tempting you to pause and even consider if he truly meant them. If he could mean them. The mind games are endless.

But then, the familiar cockiness returns, along with that smile that twists your stomach into knots.

"Now," he says, strutting towards the stalls, "let's get this bath started, shall we?" And his easy, but confident steps call you to follow, a stark reminder of who you're dealing with. But he never knows when to quit. "Or should I really have to suffer for my actions?" and the bastard pouts.

Though you know he's being sarcastic and not to feed into his taunts, you can't help but wonder—what would suffering even look like for someone like Gojo?

Violence? Physical pain? A slow and agonizingly painful death?

But the guy is damn near invincible. What on earth could hurt him?

Whatever it was, it would have to be his absolute worst nightmare, but nothing comes to mind other than frustration.

Damn it, you have to keep making choices.

Return his energy or keep it professional? Tolerance or revenge?

"Apologizing won't cut it," you snap and gesture at his jacket, wondering how the hell he slipped out of the first one without leaving a trace. "And no tricks, or those guards will be back in here faster than you can tell another joke."

Smooth.

Gojo sighs sooo dramatically, like he can see straight through your little kitty claws. "Fine, fine. Loosen up," he drags, "I won't cause any trouble. Just don't go getting any ideas now, Nurse." He finishes with a wink.

He's insufferable—but despite your smoldering anger, tendrils of doubt still creep in.

Your fingers slightly tremble as you begin to unfasten his straps, but each click feels a bit like victory. A fragile illusion of your 'control'—at least for now because at the end of the day, Gojo had chosen you to listen to. And after today, he's sure you won't forget there isn't room for anyone else.

The jacket falls with a heavy thud, your eyes immediately scanning his upper body in search of any signs of injury or stress. The cascading bruises on his arms surprise you.

They feel so feeble in your hands, the jarring evidence of him not as invincible as he seems. Pale, weak, and resting between your fingers. Devoid of the power that makes him so feared.

"Never seen bruises before," and he tilts his head, "at least not on me"

You hope Yuko was at least partly responsible for the marks on the villain, but they appear self-inflicted, and he's not as mobile.

Fuck, now you'll have to bathe him too. But it's strange, seeing him like this. Even weirder knowing that he could still do damage in this state and you can't shake the feeling of this temporary 'truce'. If it isn't obvious by now, you've learned that Gojo always has something up his sleeve.

Warm water soothes you a bit, flowing over your fingers into the large white tub—pristine, imported from somewhere far away and standing on decorative claw feet. Your eyes wouldn't stop rolling the first time you saw it, completely annoyed with Gojo's over-the-top alterations and sense of style, but you'd be a liar if you said you never thought about sinking your body into it.

The best you could do was cope with the little porcelain tub in your apartment, and you get lost thinking about how you'd love to take a long, hot, and steamy bath when you get home—if you'll even have the energy. There's no way you'll be leaving early now, not like you deserve it, and feel sick even thinking about it. You doubt you'll even have a job tomorrow.

You look so defeated Gojo thinks, sauntering forward, lifting the hem of his shirt. You turn away, focusing instead on the temperature of the water but the rustling fabric as he pulls the shirt over his head and pants to the ground sends heat to your cheeks.

He certainly isn't lacking in physique, even in his current state, but still, you wonder how such a slim but toned frame could be so...powerful.

Could you be more obvious? Your flickering eyes are so telling, darting between him and the water, but he catches your gaze from the corner of his eye as if he's read your mind. So cute trying to hide away your thoughts.

You toss in his loofah, "Well...go on. Your water's ready." But Gojo can only grin, amused by your attempts to look away despite seeing his muscled frame a number of times. Still managing to fluster you.

"Your shirt," he eyes your top, "Your pants. Looks like you've already started without me."

The water stains from earlier sit beautifully across your chest, not yet fully dry, and drawing his eyes to your semi-erect nips.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly raking over your hefty chest. "Always such a tease, aren't you, Nurse?"

You grit your teeth, cursing the swirling conflict in your easy heart, fully aware of the thin line between professionalism and this game of intimacy he just refuses to turn off. Everything was always a game no matter the circumstances. And he loves to push your buttons.

"Just get in, Gojo," you order, and after what feels like an eternity, the silence is broken by splashing water as he steps into the bath.

He slowly sinks in, sighing at the warmth of the water. Ringlets of steam engulf him, almost making his silky white hair disappear with it.

His arms string over the rim of the tub, a look of relaxation resting on his face as if he's had a long, hard day. You resist the urge to slap it off.

Sudsy bubbles form from the solution you pour under the faucet, hoping to shield your eyes from his body. You've seen enough today and expect the mini-rebellious act to piss him off, but as the bubbles grow, so do his eyes. He picks up a handful and actually starts playing with them.

"Nice touch," he adds, blowing them right into your face, and you watch with a tight lip as he decorates the bathroom with them, knowing you'll be the one to clean it all up.

He sits a crown on his head and gives himself a bubble beard, nipping your nose with some that you're quick to wipe away.

His pale eyes flutter, settling on you in a curious way.

He leans, arms flexing over the edge—steam-slicked sweat dripping down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away. "I'm ready for my sponge bath," he says, and if it was hard to take him seriously before, it's damn near impossible now—especially with this ridiculous bubble mustache.

Sickening, him managing to still be so playful, so unserious, at a time like this.

You know Gojo's unhinged, yeah, quote, "mentally unwell and a literal danger to society, tf did you think??", but to nearly take someone's life and then make jokes afterward?

God, you feel so stupid, walking around him like you were the shit but with the wrong guard up the whole time, playing right into his hands and accidentally rewarding this grown-ass man who likes to play with bubbles.

The reality of your circumstances replays in your head, the story of how you ended up here, coddling this monster. Still confused as hell as to why it had to be you.

But then again, this was your job...right? To heal. To help those who can't help themselves. To offer redemption, no matter how twisted they seem.

Loofah in hand, you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the 400th time today. "Keep talking like that and I'll stop, Gojo," you say, reluctantly drenching the tool in soap before gently washing his back.

He sinks into your touch, closing his eyes and letting his body completely rest on the cool cast iron, breathing. Feeling like he's won no matter what you say because your scrubs feel like magic.

Across his arms and over his broad shoulders, you work your way down, bubbles glistening in your trail as you're careful not to miss a single inch of skin but don't linger too long.

Every now and then, you catch glimpses of his marked skin between the foam and because you hate yourself, your brain absolutely refuses to give you a break. You have to give kudos to the dedication to his craft. The muscle definition, the scar tissue telling stories of battles won. Evidence of his past before corruption. Everything it takes to be a hero.

It's unsettling, yet fascinating, the polarity between his beauty and his monstrous deeds.

This is another first for you, this level of care. Gojo usually just hops into the shower and takes care of himself as you wait outside—easy and thorough but always taking his sweet time, all while loudly singing some annoying song that inevitably gets stuck in your head.

But after today, it'll be impossible to trust him or you again, and the hushed whispers as the guards walked you both to the restrooms made that abundantly clear.

The pitiful thoughts seep into the way you hesitantly clean him, moving down to his chest and abs and making sure to avoid more sensitive areas, but the malicious glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Whatsamatter, Nurse?" Gojo taunts, feeling you slow around his lower region, "Afraid of gettin' too close?" And you can't believe you're praying for a speedy recovery so he can handle this himself.

You ignore his comment, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. You're humiliated enough as it is and he can sense it, mocking you with a laugh.

"You're so uptight. Can't you just relax and enjoy the view?"

You want to scrub his cocky brow right off his face. "Just doing my job," you mutter, twice squeezing the loofah that feels a little funny in your hand as the soapy water rinses his chest.

The water feels heavenly on his skin, but the subtle change in your movements makes his brows furrow. Slowing, more deliberate, heavy as if you're wading through molasses. You keep adjusting your grip but the material feels so strange—the texture almost too soft like it could melt into your palm.

Your breath catches when you brush his skin, not realizing how close your fingers drifted to the edge of the sponge, and though it was only a second, it sends an unexpected jolt through his chest.

The muscle relaxers. How could you have already forgotten, you both think.

But Gojo, ever observant, doesn't miss a thing.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. "Feeling a little funny, Nurse?" his velvet voice teases.

"I'm fine," you lie, though you couldn't be less certain as the muscles in your hands start to relax more than you intended, the sponge gliding over his abs, down his sides, rhythm almost hypnotic and making the man's head fall back. You try to push through the haze, to finish quickly and be free of him, to try to regain your slipping control, but you're in a losing battle against numbness and heightened awareness.

ANd God, he has to bite his lip at your touch that feels so intense, a sensation too good to keep to himself that you obviously need to stop being such a tight-ass.

You need to loosen up in a way that medicine can't help. And Gojo knows just the trick.

He licks his lips, tongue curling over his canine before splashing a wave of water on you in one swoop.

Saying you gasp is an understatement as the steamy wash drenches your face and front once again. You've been hit not once, but twice in a day—a new personal record.

Instinctively, you reach up to shield yourself, the loofah slipping from your hand, but Gojo is quicker, wrapping his hands around your wrists and holding you in place.

A scream prepares to surge from your body when Gojo maneuvers both of your wrists into one hand and places a finger to your lips.

"Ssssh ssh ssh ssh ssh," he hushes, his voice a little too calm, "I'm not going to hurt you." He swipes a lone droplet hanging from your eyelash. "I just want you to listen."

You freeze, nerves on fire as you're forced into this close proximity for the second time today. Inches away from his face that softens.

Though you can easily call for help, you know better than to argue—he knows you know better but he never felt threatened in the first place.

Besides, he can feel your breathing slowing, the effects of the pill combined with his firm hold sending a faint buzz from your wrists to your stomach. His finger remains on your lips as he brings his closer.

"Now," his eyes flicker to your bottom lip, "You're so very good at your job, Nurse." He smoothly pulls it with his thumb. "That's why I like you. You're thorough but real. Just what I need to keep me sane."

Sane?

"Sane," he repeats like he's heard your thoughts. "Believe it or not, you keep me grounded...like a good boy. Be proud, not a single soul here or anywhere else can compare to my strength, let alone deal with me yet...here you are." He looks at you like you're a marvel.

"You can handle that...can't you?"

Words fail you. This feels rhetorical. Why does he keep torturing you like this? What is it about you?

You haven't really thought about it since your first few weeks with him but now he's forcing you to think about the little 'power' he's given you that he can easily snatch back.

What happens if he decides to go further than flirting?

You can't handle it, any of it, any of this.

You hesitate, unsure of what to say but know it could never be the truth.

Gojo must sense it because he leans closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

"If you leave, I just might crack completely, beauty." A breath you didn't realize you were holding slips. "How do you think everyone else will fare against me then, hmm?"

Gojo knows he's a prodigy, yet he still manages to surprise himself sometimes, eyes lingering over the spots on your uniform soaked through just enough to make the fabric cling—perfect aim.

Ice shoots up your spine from the heat of his unadulterated gaze, but you refuse to let him see you falter. He almost feels a prick from the daggers you throw with your eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that, Nurse," and he purrs, thumbs grazing your wrists in a mockingly gentle touch. "We all have our boundaries, right? I thought communication was key in a relationship."

"Let go of me," you find your voice, "We're done here."

Gojo slightly tilts his head.

Look at you calling the shots, he thinks. So strong, so very serious.

"God I can't help it," he breathes, "You're so fun to mess with."

He could laugh in your face, have his way with you, and show you that your resistance means nothing.

Instead, he slowly releases your wrists and lies back against the tub. "I know you think about it—there's nothing wrong with a little fun...right?" and though the connection is severed, you don't know if it's the drugs or just him that makes his amplified touch linger as you sheepishly rub your wrists.

Gojo watches you blush red—thoughts you didn't know lived within you rushing to the forefront as if he's pushed a button.

Grimy, raw, salacious, unwanted thoughts of forbidden fruit, wandering hands, and stolen touches in the dark. Wondering what his idea of "fun" was like under the sheets. With a psycho named Gojo.

You feel like you should throw up in disgust but the nausea never comes, instead you burn between your legs.

Fuck, you've got to get out of here.

You draw a breath, forcing away the torturous daydreams and quickly finish his bath.

"You should rest," you firmly say and pull the plug to let the tub drain. "And don't expect any more favors from me."

He sits up slow, his expression stone-cold as he slicks back his wet hair. Then he smiles. "I promise. Now dry me off?" he quips.

You ignore his request, swiftly handing him a towel before he can flash you. Gruffing, you lower to your knees and begin drying the floor of his messes, hoping to distract you from your questionable sanity.

Rustling fabric fills the chamber as he dries off, and when you figure it's safe, you look up to a nude Gojo. Still dripping with bubbles, hair plastered to his derpy face, and toned muscles, all the muscles, presenting themselves in all their glory.

The only things dry are his damn hands.

He throws the towel over over his shoulder, sauntering towards you with a wicked grin.

"Well, aren't you gonna help me put this thing back on?" He nods at the jacket he knows is more bullshit than security. "Don't want you getting all worked up again."

The first time your brain registered that Gojo was flirting with you was on your third day as his nurse.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" Gojo was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the second time he'd noticed how sluggish you looked while tending to him, suggesting with a grin that you must be quite the party animal.

Ha. If only.

You tsked, tossing his bedsheets into the hamper, and assured him that your sleepy eyes and dragging feet were the result of long hours and running on fumes. Having time for fun was just a dream.

"I don't get out much myself," he says, alluding to the situation he's in, wearing sarcasm like a necklace. "I love a good night in as much as anyone else but, I don't know. The stuffiness hasn't grown on me yet."

You tugged the collar of your scrubs—the air did feel a bit thick, like the room hadn't been aired out in ages and you couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been sitting in it—how he could. That alone would be enough to drive you up a wall.

Sunlight flickered in your eyes, and you raised your hand to block it, noticing the small window perched above his chair.

"Ah, let's open this then," you said, walking over and wrestling with the ancient wood for a moment before finally pulling the creaky flap up to the ceiling.

Standing on your tiptoes to reach it, a sliver of your midriff peeked out, but what captured his attention most was the way the sun rays washed your face. You scrunched your nose, the breeze sending wisps of your hair to tickle it, and he imagined the feel of them between his fingers.

The view was beautiful, you thought, hands gripping the warm bars. Trees surrounded the vast area, stretching out as far as you could see, the pathway to civilization completely covered in dense forest from this angle.

You never realized how high up his ward was—or how long the drop was from here.

"Too bad I'm not small enough to slip through those bars." He rubbed his stomach. "But you know me, 'Mr. BigBack.'"

He joked around as he usually did, looking to trigger your defenses, but your sentiment was...odd.

This was the first time anyone had cared to do something so simple for Gojo. And the closest anyone had gotten to him without their knees buckling.

The first two days of your trial, the Director had guards posted right outside of Gojo's door, their presence a constant reminder to stay alert and maintain a safe distance from the convict and Gojo was positive the mental barrier would keep a wall between you forever.

But then you laughed. A real laugh. Snickery and cute. Finding his joke funny instead of threatening.

It surprised him, that sound. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

"Who knew you could bring so much light into this place?"

Later at lunch, you sat with Yuko, having your usual midday catch-up. You never start with yours but she, like most people in the ward now, was absolutely dying to hear about how you were dealing with the villain of the century.

"He's actually not so bad...yet. Corny, but," you took a pondering breath, "He kind of thanked me today?"

She immediately scoffed and waved you off and who could blame her?

You were the anomaly he chose to show mercy to and now he was thanking you??

Being polite was too far of a stretch to believe, you must have been mistaken. But when you gave her the deets on why he'd do such a thing, she nearly choked on her apple. "He said that??"

"Ya?" You patted her back with a concerned look.

"Watch out, Casanova." She cleared her throat and did a nervous laugh.

Her comment threw you off for the rest of lunch, but when you thought about it later that night while surfing for new shows, a light bulb went off.

He flirted with you.

Thinking it was just another one of those literal dry-humor jokes or simply gratitude for making his stay a little less crappy, it flew right over your head. You always feel warm inside when you help people so you didn't think too much about it.

To you, it was just a kudos. Nothing more.

But the way the stands in front of you now is everything.

As bold and brash as it gets.

Fuck. Me.

And your body betrays you, sending all of the vulnerable sensations you've been fighting to suppress from your soaking chest, tingling wrists, aching thighs, and heavy breath, straight to your throbbing clit.

Air escapes you and you scramble to grab your supplies and leave.

Enough is enough. The guards outside can restrain him and escort him back to his room for all you care. You just have to get out of there.

Away from him.

Away from temptation.

Hot, overwhelming, guilty, mentally and physically unstable temptation.

In the quiet of the hallway a level below Gojo's ward, you lean against a wall taking deep breaths, completely disgusted with yourself.

How are you supposed to keep dealing with this, with him?

He keeps pushing and pushing and pushing you to the edge until there's nowhere else to go. You can only imagine the hell the nurses he didn't like went through.

Taking care of him isn't getting any easier, and now you were fucking up and making mistakes.

But you're the only one who can do this. Who must.

So suck it up. Play along, Stop thinking only of yourself. Pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend?

...

What terrifies you the most is the thought that you may not have to.

You keep your scrambled thoughts to yourself when you're called into your Director's office at the end of the day.

You tell him the same story you told Yuko and take full responsibility for what happened, blaming it on exhaustion and needing a break. Swearing to never let it happen again.

By some miracle, you get to keep your job, though your one wish to leave early ended up costing you an hour and a half of unpaid overtime, and almost a friendship.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed—images of the day, the ward, Yuko, flooding your thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside. You tell yourself that it's all just the guilt talking, just anxiety gnawing at your edges.

But then there's Gojo.

The most prominent one of all.

Staring you in the face with lifeless eyes and a ghostly smile. Tugging on your moral strings like a puppet.

When you close your eyes, you can't shake the feeling that he's waiting for you, a lurer in the shadows awaiting your every move.

Leave it. Leave it. Le—

You find yourself scrolling through your phone, deep-diving the web for information on your tormentor.

His past, his affiliations, anything to tell you who Gojo was, and who he is now.

The man is an anomaly.

Not much is known about him outside of mainstream news and internet rumors.

He's just this guy that kind of popped out of nowhere in the worst way possible. Conveniently on the tail of what could have been the most devastating incident in the history of Tokyo.

The media says he's a hero gone rogue but not much else. They damned him to hell and that was that. Even the Director disclosed very little about him during your briefing and you weren't allowed access to his files or records because it's all 'confidential'.

Nothing.

The more you search, you less that comes up. Not even silly conspiracy theories that you definitely thought would be riddling Reddit. The longer you scroll, the more you find yourself beginning to question your own sanity. Your interest. Sweet little buds of obsession.

Even though you hated taking it earlier, you actually need the pill now more than ever to relax, sleeping eluding you and mind wandering to imaginary scenarios as you stare at the ceiling. 

Tomorrow, you'll have to face Gojo again. And the day after that and the day after that and every day after.

In between your nearly non-existent off days, you'll have to seem him and decide what face you want to put on.

Because you simply cannot walk away.

After all, he's right—no one else can handle him like you can.

extended angel's note:

when i originally decided to make this into short story, i had no plans on using a y/n perspective. it was just going to feature an OC name i’ve used in stories before, named Persephone, buuuut i decided to wanted to keep it immersive and include no physical descriptors/personality specifics bc i knew i wanted to upload it to tumblr. 

to keep it reader-friendly, yk? 

alas, Persephone has had her claws in me the entire time i’ve been editing and said with her whole chest that i couldn't just dismiss her like that chile. so i decided changed the perspective but keep her name in place of y/n. 

you won’t see it too often in the story bc it’s not super significant or said a lot in general, bUT it is relevant for a certain moment later in the story. you’ll know when you know 🤭. 

anyway, hope it doesn't bother you guys too much. and def feel free to mentally plug your name when you see it to keep yourself grounded into the story.

tag list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @kiwismoother @rune1920 @blkkizzat @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @ressyshi @startatdawn

@khenanadeche @heijihatsutori @inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk

@rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping @sims-4lifers @bratidol @rh-tg1

@hyunsuks-beanie @n1vi @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111 @supsiii

@natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko @strawberrymilkshakes-posts

@nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow @sxnkuna

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@yuuan-66 @gojoslefttoenail @soyalovestoyap @winkwonks-world @thebiggestsimpforyou 

[ohbueckers]

SUIT & TIE. all pressed up in black and white, and you’re dressed in that dress i like. love is swinging in the air tonight, let me show you a few things.

ONE-SHOT! pairing, paige bueckers x reader. notes, another request i got done in ample timing because i’ve been procrastinating the last two parts of what’s my name real bad LMFAOOO enjoy! @patscorner @thaatdigitaldiary thanks baes i needed an excuse to use this picture… warnings, sexual content.

you’re standing near the grand entrance of the gala, lingering behind as your parents moved effortlessly through the crowd, shaking hands and greeting guests. you’d been to many of these events for their business, and yet you always seemed to dissociate. you glance down at the dress you’re wearing—your girlfriend’s choice, of course. it fits you like a glove, the deep color standing out in a sea of black and white. paige had insisted on it, and you’d given in because the way she looks at you in it is worth every second of doubt you’d had when she first showed it to you.

but paige was late. again.

your dad walks up to you, a smug smirk on his face as he sinks his hands deeper into his pockets. “she’ll be here. follow us in,” it was like he could read your mind as he throws his head in one direction, which you figure is the main hall where the night is supposed to start. his arm extends, offering for you to take it, and after a brief pause, you do, rolling your eyes with a half-smile before threading your arm through his.

she had promised to be here after the nike event, swearing she’d make it before the night really started. you understood; between interviews, sponsorships, basketball commitments—she’s been pulled in every direction, and truthfully, you couldn’t be prouder of her. her fame had skyrocketed this past year, and it was safe to say she was booked and busy. in the world of paige bueckers, this all came with the territory.

but tonight, you need her here. it’s your parents’ night, the business gala they’ve been planning for months, and you were happy the location had aligned with her schedule. as much as you’ve gotten used to being the one waiting for paige, there’s something about this evening that’s different. maybe it’s the nerves of being around all these people, or maybe it’s the way you can’t stop checking your phone, hoping for an update.

the minutes crawl by slower than they should, your eyes flitting across the room, searching the crowd for a glimpse of white. as your fingers tap nervously against the side of your glass. the crowd blurs together—tuxedos, dresses, champagne flutes clinking—but no sign of her yet.

just as you think about actually socializing with other people, your demeanor probably giving uninterested to anyone who thought about it, the doors part, and she walks in, all legs and confidence as she shoots that smile at everyone. for a second, you think you’ve imagined her, that your mind has conjured her up to calm your nerves. but no. she’s here.

and she looks damn good.

your heart rate picks up as she clocks you from across the room, that familiar smirk pulling at her lips when she sees you staring. she knows the effect she has on you, on everyone, and she’s not shy about it.

when she finally reaches you, standing just close enough, her voice is low, intimate as she wraps her hand around your hip, and she says, “told you i’d make it, didn’t i?” paige has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. always.

you swallow, glancing at her shoes—a pair of nike’s that she’d probably worn for the shoot. of course, she’d forget to change them after the event. “you were so close to pulling this off,” you tease, nodding toward her feet. “really would’ve had me if you ditched the kicks.”

she glances down, a mock look of realization spreading across her face. “ahh, i knew i was missin’ somethin’. but honestly? i think they make the fit.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile spreading across your lips. “only you would wear sneakers to a business gala.”

she leans in, smirking smugly, her breath warm against your ear as she murmurs, “and only you could make me wanna skip this whole thing.”

your stomach flips, heat rising in your face at the way her voice drops to a dangerous level. her fingers are still gripping your waist like her life depends on it, just a subtle touch, but enough. you should be mingling, keeping up appearances for your parents, but right now? all you can think about is the way paige is looking at you, like she’s already undressing you with her eyes.

she pulls back, just enough to let her eyes trail over your dress—her dress. the one she picked out specifically because, in her words, “i know what looks good on you better than you do.”

she was right.

“you’re killin’ me, you know that?” she mutters, fingers tracing the delicate fabric of the material.

you raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your best formal composure. “i could say the same about you. what’s with the tie?” your hand moves up instinctively, fingers brushing over it. it’s tucked neatly into her white vest, and you’re well-aware of how comfortable you both look right now.

paige’s grin is slow, knowing. “you’ve never seen me like this before, huh?”

you shake your head, licking your lips as you take her in. “no. and i wasn’t prepared. when do those pics come out again?” you’re serious enough to want to commit this image to memory, knowing that the suit, the tie, the whole ensemble might be your new favorite thing.

before paige can respond, you spot movement out of the corner of your eye—your parents approaching. you practically leap out of each other’s arms, standing a little straighter as they stroll over. you felt like two kids in highschool getting caught doing something they weren’t supposed to, despite being full-grown adults.

your dad gives a pointed glance between you and paige, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “well, isn’t this a sight?” he says with an undercurrent of teasing that only a parent could manage. “glad you could make it, paige.”

paige flashes her most polite smile, but there’s a faint blush creeping up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. “wouldn’t miss it,” she says, her voice softer and less full of the usual slang she’d use. she’s met your parents plenty of times before, but something about the way they’re looking at the two of you now, has her just a little shy.

your mom steps in, her own smile warm as she subtly nudges paige’s arm. “best behavior, okay?”

you watch paige turn a shade darker, chuckling as the confidence she walked in with slipped just slightly. she clears her throat, glancing down at her shoes before looking back up, all politeness. “of course. i’m on my best behavior.” who was she convincing?

you try to stifle a laugh at the sight of her—paige bueckers, who commands attention on the court and off, suddenly looking bashful under your parents’ orders. you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her like this, and honestly, it’s a little endearing.

your dad claps a hand on her shoulder, steering you both back to the crowd. “let’s get back to mingling. it’s almost time for the toast.”

the night continues, your parents dragging you from one conversation to the next, making you play the part of the dutiful daughter while paige keeps her distance, blending in with the crowd. well, almost. on her journey to becoming a household-known name, she had been stopped for pictures a few times. you catch glimpses of her every now and then, your eyes meeting across the ballroom, and each time, she gives you that same teasing look. you were glad she was here even if you couldn’t spend most of the night together.

then comes the toast, your father standing up to say a few words while the room quiets down, champagne glasses raised high. you’re only half paying attention, focus drifting back to paige like it had been the entire night, who’s already watching you from across the room. she doesn’t need to say anything, but the look she gives you is clear as day—a tilt of her head toward the hallway, her fingers brushing against her tie, sending a message that makes you wonder what her plan is.

meet me in the bathroom.

as your dad finishes up his speech, you wait a few seconds before you excuse yourself from the room, sure not to make anything look too suspicious, although your parents knew you and paige well-enough by now.

the noise of the gala fades as you move deeper into the hallway, the plush carpet beneath your heels muffling your steps. paige is waiting for you just outside the family bathroom, her back leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, but there’s nothing casual about the way she’s eyeing you up and down when she sees you approaching.

“you lookin’ real fine right now,” paige says, her voice low, a little rougher than usual. she brings her hands up, rubbing them together as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, smiling through it. “almost didn’t recognize you for a second.”

you smirk, stepping closer, as you swat her hands down, sick of those stupid rizz hands, although it always worked.. “oh, put it down!”

paige laughs, pushing off the wall and opening the bathroom door for you. “c’mon. lemme show you something real quick.”

you step inside without hesitation, the door clicking softly behind you, and in an instant, she’s on you. her hands grip your waist, pushing you back against the door, your ass a cushion against the hard surface. and before you can react, her lips crash against yours. it’s hungry, needy, because paige can quite frankly never get enough of you.

her body presses into yours, and you whimper into her mouth, manicured nails sliding around her neck, tugging her closer. “paige,” you murmur against her lips, but that only spurs her on.

she breaks away just enough to flash you a grin, her breath hot against your skin. “what? you don’t wanna?”

you laugh, the sound breathless as she moves her lips to your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin in a way that makes your knees weak. “i didn’t think we’d be sneaking around at a gala,” you manage to say between gasps.

paige pulls back slightly again, her eyes locking onto yours, head slightly tilted down due to your height. “it’s not sneaking if they don’t catch us,” she reasons, and you suppose she’s right, but there was also no way you’d say no to her right now when she’s looking like that.

you smile, and her hands slide further around your waist. “c’mere.” she bites her lip, reaching for your wrist as she pulls you toward the sink, spinning you around so your back hits the counter. she hoists you up, and you don’t even have much time to process it before she’s on you again, lips finding yours as she slips her knee between your legs, parting them for her next move.

her hands begin gathering up the fabric of your dress, inch by inch. her fingers trail over your thighs, touch giving you goosebumps, and all you can do is breathe her in as she finally pushes it all the way up so it’s scrunched up at your hips.

she pulls away, lips pink and glossy. “you good?” she whispers.

you nod, barely able to speak as her hands explore you, fingers sliding slowly between your thighs, stroking your skin. “yeah.”

it’s all she needs, really. paige drops to her knees, maintaining eye contact as she positions herself between your legs. the sight of her down there should be framed. it has your pulse racing in all the right ways, and you can barely stand it.

she hooks her fingers around your panties, tugging them down like she’s done a million times before, because she has, and you stare at her with all the awe in the world as she pulls you to the edge of the counter. in an instant, her mouth is on you. you didn’t have much time, and the blonde didn’t plan on wasting it. the first flick of her tongue is slow, deliberate, like she’s savoring you, and one of your hands fly to the sink, gripping it for balance as a strangled gasp escapes your lips.

the other hand instinctively reaches to untuck her tie, pulling on it as the movement brings her closer. she smiles, teeth and all against your clit as she glances up, knowing how much you’re enjoying this. she brings your thighs over her shoulders, grip more rough now as she uses them as handles, having you in the exact position she’d pictured.

the sight of her there, all white suit and tie and sharp eyes, makes your breath catch in your throat. her tongue presses flat against you a few times, switching up the pleasure in a way that keeps you on your toes everytime.

you tug on her tie again, harder this time, making her groan into you, and you feel every bit of it. you can’t help it—the way she looks, the way she feels between your legs, it’s all too much. your back arches as you grind against her mouth, your thighs squeezing around her shoulders as the pleasure builds higher and higher.

“paige, please,” you breathe, your voice almost desperate. it’s a plea, but also a challenge, because you know she’s only going to push you further.

she smirks. “not going anywhere, baby. want more of me?”

she didn’t wait for an answer as she removed one of her hands from your thigh, pulling back just enough to see where her fingers were going. right into you, index and middle disappearing, the slight cold sensation of her rings at the base making your jaw drop lower, to the floor if possible.

luckily, you and paige have had sex in a few public places by now that you’d learned how to keep quiet. but right now, she wanted to hear you more than anything. needed to.

“lemme hear that mouth, too. don’t hold back.” and she meant it, head dipping between your legs once again as she got back to work, fingers moving at the same speed as her tongue.

“paige…” you breathe, practically squirming as you screw your eyes shut, unable to contain the whimper that escapes. the thrill of being caught, anyone knocking on that door, or worse, actually getting in, only heightens the sensation. “i can’t—”

“good,” she replies, the teasing lilt in her voice making you moan.

with every lick and thrust, she drives you closer to the edge, and you find yourself losing all sense of time and place, wrapped up in the moment with her. your fingers are still tugging tightly on that tie, and you’re sure this is the closest she’s ever been to your cunt, the closest she could possibly be.

you’re barely holding on, body trembling, legs wanting to close as the pleasure only builds, but paige doesn’t let up. she keeps going, curling her fingers up inside you, mouth moving faster, more insistent. your head falls against the mirror, and you can’t stop the soft, desperate sounds escaping your lips as you come undone without much warning. the sounds were enough.

paige doesn’t stop, not even when she’s sure your body has had enough, and your breath comes out in ragged gasps. she keeps her mouth on you, drawing out every last bit come until you’re spent, legs shaking around her shoulders.

when she finally pulls back, her lips are swollen, and there’s a smug, satisfied grin on her face as she runs her tongue over her top lip. she doesn’t say anything, but she stands up, pulling up your panties with her, making sure they hold every bit of the result she’d given you for the rest of the night. uncomfortable, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

and it’d give the blonde a present for when they’d get pulled down again later.

you’re still catching your breath, your fingers loosening from around her now shriveled tie. paige looks at you as if she’s just won a championship, glancing down at her chest as she tries to smooth out the tie, tucking it back in her vest. “good as new,” she mumbles.

you laugh, breathless, shaking your head as you tug her back into you, pulling her in for a kiss. “shut up,” you murmur against her lips, tasting yourself on her tongue.

but before you can say anything more, she pulls back, her grin widening as she whispers, “round two at the hotel?”

you’ll never be able to look at her in a suit the same way again.

[obsesssedblerd]

"Who's your new teacher?" (Part 3)

Synopsis: Toji takes Megumi to his doctor's appointment, and you, his teacher, hunt for a gift to give him.

Pairing: single dad! toji x f! reader

Contains: plenty of fluff, crack, megumi is four, tsumiki is seven, toji is still toji (but like he's soft for his kids and he takes care of them), reader is a preschool teacher, reader and toji are around the same age, protective toji, protective tsumiki, megumi being scared of doctors, mentions of shiu kong, everyone is happy bc i said so

part one here, part two here

a/n: here's part three! barely proofread. sorry for mistakes.

update: pt. 4 here

--- --- --- --- ---

Though Megumi said that he would be brave, Toji Fushiguro knew his baby all too well. In the waiting room of the doctor’s office, Megumi sat stiffly beside him, clinging his dog plushie way too tight—an obvious sign that he was scared. Toji’s heart aches within his chest, and once he finishes filling out the paperwork for him, he sets the clipboard aside and pulls the small boy onto his lap. “Megs, it’s okay, I promise. We won’t be here long, alright? No scary shots.”

His eyes fill with tears, and he buries his face into Toji’s shirt with a distressed whine. Tsumiki—who was sitting next to Shiu and playing a game on his phone to pass the time—immediately lifts her head once her ears register the sound of her little brother crying, and she hands Shiu his phone back before coming to stand in front of the two of them. Toji moves an arm so she can inch her way closer to Megumi.

“Don’t worry, Gumi, we’re here,” she coos softly as she wraps an arm around Megumi’s free side, so he was being comforted by her and Toji at the same time. “Me and Papa won’t leave you alone, okay? We’re right here. You can hold my hand the entire time.” 

A middle-aged man sitting across from them sighs loudly in annoyance, and Toji looks up in time to see him rolling his eyes at Megumi’s little sniffles. “Oh, c’mon, it’s not that big of a deal. Besides, boys don’t cry.”

The concern that Toji feels for his son is immediately replaced with sheer rage, his blood boiling as he squeezes his hand into a tight fist. He’s about to open his mouth to say something, but his seven year-old daughter beats him to it. Tsumiki whirls around angrily, meeting the asshole’s stare head on. “Nobody asked you, stupid head!!” She yells.

The man’s eyes go wide, the receptionist at the front desk gasps, and a few of the other patients in the waiting room either stifle a laugh or turn the other direction. The man looks at Toji, as if expecting him to intervene on his behalf and correct his daughter. Instead, he pats Tsumiki’s shoulder and stares at him with a small smirk. “You heard her,” he tells him, his voice dark with warning. “Stupid head.” 

He must’ve seen the utter violence in Toji’s eyes, because he chooses not to say anything else. Toji looks over to see Shiu giving Tsumiki a high-five. Then, Toji gives her shoulder a small, loving squeeze. “That’s my girl.” 

To his relief, Megumi—who had watched the exchange silently—had finished crying and was a little bit calmer. Though he’s done crying, Toji’s little blessing decides to remain in his lap, smiling up at his sister when she turns back around to hug him some more. He notices Megumi taking slower breaths, and holding up his little fingers to count the seconds as they go by. 

As he silently counts to himself, a memory from three weeks ago floods Toji’s mind. You, sitting on the ground next to Megumi, explaining a good tactic to calm himself down after crying and experiencing stress for too long. “Breathe in for four seconds,” you explained in a soft voice, holding up your fingers in front of him to count. “Then you’re going to hold for seven seconds, and finally, breathe out slowly to last eight seconds.” 

Now that he’s thinking of you, Toji smiles, wondering if it would be awkward or not to send you a message after Megumi’s appointment. Just what did you like to do after work?

—

“...What?!” You shout into the phone, your heart pounding as you pace back and forth in your living room. 

“Uh, sorry,” the store clerk on the other line says, gulping nervously around their words. “We’re unable to put this item on hold for you.” 

Your head is spinning. You think you’re about to throw up. Your eyes drift back to your laptop which displays the email announcing the special, limited edition of the dog plushie Megumi has—a bright white one, matching the dark-colored one that he kept with him all of the time. 

You subscribed to the brand’s website around a month ago, and had been keeping an eye out for it to drop so you could get one for him. Since it dropped this afternoon shortly after all of your students had gone home, you immediately knew that it would be the perfect gift after his doctor’s appointment. For the last three hours, you had been calling store after store, only to be met with disappointment when customer service revealed that they were completely sold out. It was a popular plushie, after all. You finally found a store that had the plushie in stock, but—

“How come you can’t put it on hold?!” You exclaimed. “I’ve never heard of something like this before!” 

“Um, well, since the plushie is a special edition item, they can’t be ordered from the store or put on hold, just so everyone has a chance to get one. It has to be fair.” 

You’re shoving your shoes on, using your shoulder to hold the phone to your ear as you grab your keys and purse. “Okay, how many are left?” 

“I believe just one. They sold out super fast today.” 

You didn’t care what had to happen. You were getting that damn plushie for Megumi. 

—

You thank every deity that you didn’t get pulled over, and that you didn’t get into an accident. You pull into the store’s parking lot, run out of your car, skip the cart, and go straight towards the toy section. The store is busy this evening, and that worries you. You hope that you’re not too late. When you reach the aisle where the plushie is supposed to be located, you skillfully maneuver your way through the crowd of parents and kids. You are a teacher, after all. 

You see the stand where the special edition plushie is supposed to be, and your heart sinks when you see that it’s completely empty. You groan as you walk down the next aisle of toys away from the crowd, reaching into your purse to grab your phone. Maybe there’s another store nearby, or even about thirty minutes away with at least three of them in stock. Maybe—

A brightly-colored package barely sticking out from underneath the rest of the stuffed animals in a large bin gets your attention. You shove your phone back into your purse, then dig into the bin, pulling out stuffed animal after stuffed animal until you reach it. You gasp, then pull out the last special edition dog plushie. Luckily for you, it’s not damaged. You squeal in victory, already excitedly imagining what little Megumi’s reaction is going to be like once you deliver it to him tomorrow. You check the price of it, and wince. Definitely a special item. You’re definitely going to have to dip into your savings account. 

It doesn’t matter. The smile on Gumi's face will be worth it. You know that much. 

As you’re transferring money from your savings account to your checking account, you hear footsteps approach the aisle you’re standing in. “Shiu, I’m telling ya, it’s supposed to be here, but it isn’t. You sure you called the right store? I swear, this shit-” You look up to see Toji, who comes to a complete stop once he sees you, his eyes widening in shock. 

Oh. 

------------

tags: @abadbitchblogs @koriisworld @queendessi24 @chosoyukisgf @blubearxy @starmapz @atomictrashcreator @levixbby @jjknanamin @roxytheimmortal @eternallyvenus @jup1tersuccubus

sorry if I missed anyone! I went based on the replies in the previous part. if you would like to be tagged for part 4, kindly let me know in the replies! this includes those who have been tagged previously! <3

[elizabebabe]

camp woodshine ໑᱖ matt sturniolo

‘just broken people healing each other.’

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ at the ripe age of 7 camp: woodshine became the center of y/n ‘s happiness, when she left and inevitably became older the bullying she endured deepened sending her back into a dark hole but what happens when she reconnects with the boy she grew close with at camp in their smaller than they thought town?

follow through the memories spiraling in y/n’s mind and back to reality: her harsh reality.

pairing: depressedf!y/n x quiet!matt

they’re in highschool, around 17.

onlychild!matt universe.

warnings: these will update over time so keep an eye out with this list, every chapter will have it’s own warnings so it’s not too important but if you wanted to read them all at once they will be here:

use of y/n, depression, zoning-out, jumping pov’s from child!y/n to teenage!y/n.

chapter 1 preview:

zoning out at the empty spot of your desk, tear stains and rubbed out eyeliner decorating your face.

it’s hard not to go back to the simpler times, your favorite childhood memories.

woodshine.

your mom, noticing your lack of friends and sudden mood changes blissfully unaware of the bullying you suffered from at only 7 years old, decided it would be best to chuck you to camp: woodshine, settled in your small town and known for helping kids with lack of social interaction.

the memories are scattered but conflictingly fresh in your mind, the mind that jumps between the peaceful thoughts taking you out of that cold classroom and to the cabin‘s tucked into a few trees.

“g’morning campers!” the usual morning call, waking all the small bodies around you, you remember the drowsy feeling in the mornings, the chills crawling your skin as soon as the cool air brushes over you...

the smell of snotty girls cozy in a cabin, as weird as it sounded you missed it.

“hey, y/n.” you felt your arm being tapped, the same sweet, calming and comforting voice edging you awake.

“it’s morning sweetheart!” the voice excited as she continued your little routine that would set a tradition with your resistance to awaken.

a ‘humph’ escaped your throat as you were never really a morning person.

‘tap’ ‘tap’

the sound of your pencil hitting at the wooden desk you sat at momentarily bringing you away from the peaceful sun-rays, you focused back on the same spot of your desk, the teacher's stern voice drowned out as you attempted to relive the distant memory.

🏷️ @fratbrochrisgf @3lizaluvs @lily-strnlo @i-love-ptv @venusjaynie @jetaimevous @lizzysmith110 @firexovni @bagsbyclair0.

🕰️ dividers: @xxbimbobunnyxx, @saradika-graphics, @plutism.

credits: @sirenedeslily has quickly become one of my favorite blogs and she has easily inspired me to put more work into the things i post, so this post is heavily inspired by her, go check out her blog/stories and ‘YOURS TRULY’ profiles as they’re all done!!

thoughts: i haven’t forgot about love island for any of you that are wondering about it, i know it’s been longer than a month since the last installment but i genuinely lost motivation for a bit since it got repetitive, they wake up, get ready:breakfast, chill, maybe do a challenge, get ready for the evening, talk, sleep. but that doesn’t mean it’s not still being worked on just a little slower than everything else i’m doing since i have to be in a certain mood to write it, just be patient with me and maybe enjoy my other work in the time being, anyway super excited about this, love yous.

soon to be on the rack!

© elizabebabe

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Man, we've got a lot of these, huh? It's YJ's fault this time; whoopsie doodles! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Danny,” Diana says from the door.

Danny looks up from his place in the book. It’s definitely aimed at younger kids, but it’s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he can’t quite parse, but he’s making pretty good progress on the words he can’t recognize.

It’s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.

“Hm?” he asks, flipping the front flap of the dust cover over his current pages to mark his place. The book goes back onto the nightstand, beside his space shuttle; Danny uses the railing beside his bed to support himself stepping up and out of his wheelchair, leaning on the railing until he can figure out…wait, where’d he leave his old people walker?

“This walk is long. You will want your chair.”

Well, then. Couldn’t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. “Fine.”

Diana smiles. She doesn’t have to wear the mask around him anymore— Danny’s pretty sure that his injuries have been declared as clotted, or sealed, or whatever at this rate. They for sure swabbed his ectoplasm and came to some kind of conclusion, anyway, which means he only looks gross, but isn’t, like…actively leaking fluids.

On the one hand, gross! But, well, you know. Nothing for it but bandaids and time.

And her face looks nice. Danny hadn’t known what she’d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn up… She’s nice. Danny’s sure that she’s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but she’s in charge of him and she’s nice. She doesn’t have to be nice; lots of people have been in charge of him and been mean about it. There was that one guy who kept holding him—with the taser—

(Time slips away from him, a little. When he gets back to the world in front of him, Diana is carefully looking at his face, the back of her hand stroking the back of his.)

Danny’s in his chair. He’s not…there. He’s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (that’s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and he’s not hungry and he’s only scared because of memories. He’s safe. He’s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the table—they’re not shocking him—he can move his fingers, he’s not stuck in his core—

His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.

“Are you alright?” Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesn’t stop. “We can wait. There is no—“

Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. It’s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. That’s not… There’s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.

…He think he might have that time. Now. He thought he would die for good in that five by five box, waiting for something that would finally end him instead of just keeping him in a cycle of injuries he never fully healed from.

But now he’s not. He’s here.

He wants to keep going.

“Alright,” Diana says, slow and careful. “Hold on.”

Danny doesn’t hold on—or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesn’t cling to his arm rests or to the frame of his chair because he knows that Diana is really, really strong, but she also really, really doesn’t want to hurt him.

She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like he’s been here before, but he doesn’t remember it super well. Maybe it was when he was sick or something? Either way, a lot of different people wave at him as they go by—or just straight up stare, if they’re rude—and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and a…starfish in a jar…?

Oh, the starfish waves at him???? Danny waves back because?? What??

Danny rolls to a stop at a smooth, cylindrical elevator. It looks like a giant test tube.

…Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isn’t like being dunked into water to see if his body absorbs ambient oxygen from the atmosphere or if his biology is truly not oxygen-based, but the memory is. Bad.

They go upwards. Nothing happens but Diana’s pushed button.

Danny exhales.

They get off at a section of the base Danny’s never been to, and it's essentially just a long, somewhat narrow hallway. The walls are actually painted a creamy off-white here, and there’s…like…decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?

Huh??

The rooms are numbered, but they’re not plain steel like in other areas downstairs; some of them have stickers, or drawings, or marker written straight onto the door itself. They look...cozy...? Danny thinks so, anyway, compared to the rest of the ultra high tech space base.

They roll to a stop in front of a door. It’s got a number on it, same as all the others, but there’s a box cutout taped to the front of it. The—

—The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.

Danny stares.

“Gegrapa,” Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesn’t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the door— Oh. Got it.

Danny leans forward just enough to touch the door with his fingertips.

The door says something in a robotic voice, but the synthesizer is too mangled for Danny to make out the words. The door slides open horizontally into the wall, instead of the way the other doors open like portals or from below, and it’s kind of cool?

Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.

…No, it’s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room or—it’s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. There’s a wooden headboard and it’s got a mattress on it that’s thicker than a VCR.

There’s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.

There’s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wall—there’s a little lip where the bedroom dips into a tiny sitting room, a small television on a table and a small table and chair. It’s kind of…it’s kind of like a little hotel suite.

Danny’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t move, and Diana doesn’t wheel him in. “It’s okay,” Diana says, and—Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but it’s only Diana, who’s never hit him, and they’re fine. He’s…safe. It’s safe. He’s safe here. “Do you want to go in?”

Danny doesn’t move. His hands don’t touch the wheels. They’re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. “…What?” he asks hoarsely.

“A rum for my Danny,” Diana murmurs, quietly. Danny’s heart throbs at the possessive. “You are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sum hours. You cuðe spenda more time here, all ana.”

Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried pace— and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the room—and the room is small, sure, but they're in space. Space will always be a premium. Even in this small room, though, the furniture is sparse and placed distant from each other…distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.

There’s a Moon clock display hung on the wall over the doorway, and Danny can faintly see the outline of what he assumes is the current lunar phase as seen from Earth.

Having the lamp isn’t exactly the same as glow-in-the-dark-stars, and thank goodness for that. If it had been, Danny might have cried.

(Or, he realizes, something burning in his eyes that isn’t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)

“...Me?” Danny asks, terrified to know the answer. Is this room for him?? Is he getting a room here? Is he supposed to stay here? On the moon?! Is he supposed to stay with everyone here, in a tiny room, where there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?

…It’s a bedroom. It’s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.

“Yes,” Diana says, and lets go of his hair. “Use it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.”

Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelings—they taste a lot like snot—and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.

There’s another little fridge inside the sitting area. It’s not right next to the bed like it is beside Danny’s cot, but it is the same style of fridge. When Danny pops the door open, it has the same styles of snacks. Fig Einsteins. Peanut butter squeezies and applesauce squeezies and yogurt squeezies. Protein shakes in bottles. Pedialight. Hummus packs.

Danny might still need someone to open the snack packs for him. That’s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.

“If you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,” Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. It’s red. It’s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurse’s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. He’ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.

…Okay, that’s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasn’t had that since… Danny’s eyes squint as he thinks; he rubs an eye. Wait, when had he been squatting under a conference table? Was that a real memory??

Diana is very tall, even in the little space, but when she ducks her head, the gesture makes her a little smaller, a little more manageable for Danny’s lower-than-usual-gaze. Now that he can see her expression, she looks soft, and even uncertain, even though she looks stone and strong on the television when she goes out to fight. “Do you like it?” she asks.

Danny fidgets.

He—does. He likes it a lot. The room doesn’t have any windows, but if Danny moved all his things in here, got used to being able to come and go, and people coming in and out…this space could be just another space. It’s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.

…The room is utterly devoid of other people.

(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)

(Danny doesn’t like remembering The Box.)

“I am scared,” Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Diana’s face immediately drops.

“Why are you scared?”

I’ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesn’t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. “No…people here.”

“That is triewe. You would have more dīegolnes here,” Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. “Is that good, or bad?”

It isn’t good and it isn’t bad…? Danny isn’t sure how to phrase it. It’s neither. Being alone is just scary.

“You not hurt me,” Danny tries, knowing he’s missing some connecting word in the middle. He ignores how Diana comes back to kneel beside him, because if he looks at her, he won’t say anything. “Do not.”

“No,” Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. “We do not.”

No. They don’t. Danny swallows. “Bad…hurt me.” He doesn’t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.

Diana stills. It’s like watching Vlad’s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. “On eorþegearde?” she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that she’s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Who?” Diana asks feather-light.

Danny doesn’t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.

…But maybe if he doesn’t say the name…and they...and they promised they'd help hide him...

He wants to be right. Danny wants to be right that they're nice, and that they want to help him. Danny wants to be right that they want to protect him. As long as he never, nevernotevernever tells them he's a ghost...

Maybe someone will help him. This time.

“Bad,” Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? “Wants…hurts me? For…” WHAT WORDS DOES HE KNOW? Danny gives up and just draws a y-shaped autopsy incision on his chest. It goes down from his collarbones to his belly button.

Diana watches. Her eyes are sharp.

“Do you feel safe with the staff dunstæger in medical?” Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quickly—he’s never alone there, and no one’s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.

“Good,” Danny whispers. “Talk…talks to me.”

“Ealne weg,” Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. “We will cepa you safe.”

You safe and we is all Danny needs to hear. He could probably cry by himself, but Danny wants the comfort anyway; Diana lets Danny take her hands into his, and he lets tears fall into someone else’s grip instead of his own.

*

Bruce is halfway to the monitor room before he feels himself be picked up from underneath the armpits.

Usually finding himself at inappropriate heights involves horseplay from Clark. No one else would be so bold as to actually put their hands on him within the professional setting of the Watchtower—and Bruce has worked very, very hard on maintaining a reputation that keeps the handsier of his fellows at bay.

The culprit is not Clark this time. Bruce finds himself looking downward at Diana’s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.

Bruce is careful not to sigh. “Wonder Woman. What is the matter?”

“Someone,” Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, “Hurt my charge.”

On the one hand, the situation with their patient is exactly as Bruce had expected. The circumstance is tragic. The circumstance was predictable.

On the other, Diana's new upset means that Bruce now has more information to work with than ever before.

Bruce can work with this.

“Tell me everything.” Bruce’s voice is just as firm—even held midair like a cat. “I will help you in every way I can.”

[generalsmemories]

48 hours.

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: did time always pass this slowly before?

✧ word count: 3.5k

✧ contents: established relationship, mentions of other characters, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, spoilers for the 1.2 main story! + a very sorry attempt of writing angst lmfao

✧ a/n: i better see my man waking up from the best sleep he's ever had next update, i ain't accepting anything else. but until then you guys will get whatever this is because Jing Yuan is literally the definition of sleeping beauty throughout 90% of this piece.

The smell of seawater is prominent the closer you get to the statue of the former high elder. The waves seemingly roaring their praises for the Vidyadhara male before you who once again parted them to reveal a palace buried beneath them.

You're still able to see the waves crash down onto the shore, the force of the impact so harsh that your shoes are drenched.

The troops behind you seem to be in awe, whispering amongst themselves as you make your way up the stairs. Fu Xuan seems to notice you almost immediately, to which you give a curt bow before looking over to Jing Yuan whose hardened expression seem to soften slightly upon seeing you, "General, the reinforcements you've requested are here," you relay, glancing behind you to gesture the other Cloud Knights to position themselves behind the two that was behind Fu Xuan.

"Splendid, Lady Fu?" Jing Yuan turns his attention back to Fu Xuan who straightens up a bit, your eyes sweep over the people behind him. The trailblazer and their companions either giving you a curt nod or an energetic wave upon seeing your attention on them. Only one male diverts his attention elsewhere when his eyes locked upon yours. You can however see him give you a curt nod when he glanced back at you, "Remain here - lead the Cloud Knights in defense of this passage. We must prevent further incidents."

Your eyebrows furrow, but before you can utter a sound Fu Xuan takes a step before you in alarm, "Jing Yuan- General, are you planning on facing Phantylia alone?"

Your mind blanks the moment you notice what he's planning to do, but as the plan has already come this far any complaints you would have would fall on deaf ears. You can merely bite back your words and look away from him - Jing Yuan does take notice of this, but he has no time to console you, merely sparing you an apologetic glance as if that would lessen the sudden reveal of his plans.

You only turn your attention back towards the stairways leading down once you start to hear bustling around you, already noticing Fu Xuan address some Cloud Knights - but she does glance at you and cock her head to the side towards the retreating group with a small smile.

Almost as if saying: "We never know what might happen, say what you want to say now instead of regretting it later."

He's walking considerably slower than the rest of the party, and you let out a scoff at how he even predicted this, "Jing Yuan." you call out, and your lover turns around with the same easygoing smile he always gave you whether it was during a meeting at the Divine Foresight, on the training grounds of the Cloud Knights as he sparred with Yanqing or at the comfort at your own private quarters.

But he doesn't move from his spot - "Yes?" he asks softly, foregoing the petnames he usually addreses with you, a silent hint as to what sort of situation the two of you find yourself in.

"... I expect you to return safely to your troops, general." you merely say, before mouthing silently: "And to me."

Jing Yuan doesn't give you a nod, he merely laughs with a smile before turning around and descending down the stairs.

The next time you saw him, he was being carried by Dan Heng, not even conscious to hear your call for him.

HOUR 3

It took an hour to haul him to to Miss Bailu's place, the smaller vidyadhara's eyes widening upon seeing his unconscious self being carred by another Vidyadhara of all things.

And as much as you wanted to stay by him, there were more immediate pressing matters to handle. You had practically begged the high elder to take care of him, sputtering whatever you were informed before Bailu were forced to sit you down to make you relax.

You were offered a cup of her herbal tea before you continued on your way, taking one last glance at Jing Yuans' resting form before you rushed out to take care of your home in his stead.

HOUR 12

The ink brush in your hand is barely moving at this point, the tip of the hair dipped with the ink having made an extended black dot on the paper scroll you were currently writing on. You glanced over to the side from your place at the desk, watching with rapt attention Jing Yuans' chest falling up and down - an indicator that he was alive and breathing.

You're pretty sure you've observed his condition more than you have gotten any work done in the past few hours. The intial plan was to go the Divine Foresight to take care of the duties that would be left behind with the abscence of the General personally because at that point you would be easily accesible to the public. But just after an hour or two, Qingzu had contacted Fu Xuan to inform her that you were in no right mind to currently focus.

Thus you were tasked to stay home or work from the room where Jing Yuan was resting by Bailu's clinic - Fu Xuan had merely parroted back what Bailu had said to her which was to let Jing Yuan wake up on his own terms, he didn't seem to be affected too strongly by Phantylia's attempt to turn him into a voidranger, and Bailu was currently in the process of finding out more.

"You wouldn't want him to wake up to the entirety of Xianzhou and yourself in disarray do you? If anything the moment he does he would sure wish he was back asleep," she had tried to joke, to which you only responded with a dry laugh.

You glanced towards the clock again, you don't know how many times you've done it, 7:28 AM. it had gone 9 hours since? Why did it feel like it had gone days?

You let out a sigh, settling yourself to sit beside Jing Yuan and brushing a hand through his hair, "How come you even made me forget the concept of time for us?" you mutter. 9 hours was usually nothing for you - nor for him. 9 hours was a lot for a short-lived species, but for you, it was just 9 hours.

It was just supposed to be a few hours.

So how did 9 hours suddenly feel a lot longer?

HOUR 24

There's a quiet knock at the door that jolts you awake, the sudden sound amidst the quiet room makes you jump from your seat at the desk, your knee colliding with the surface underneath the desk.

It doesn't hurt of course, but the person behind the door can hear your quiet curse, "Come in, Yanqing," you utter a few minutes after, and when he opens the door he's met with scene of ink spilled all over the desk and dripping down the floor.

"... Lady Bailu wouldn't be very happy about that mess, you know?"

You merely dropped a handful of paper towels down on the floor and set the ink bottle straight again, taking a seat by the bed and gesturing for Yanqing to settle on the floor in front of you. The boy doesn't utter a word as he passed you the bandages and first aid kit he had gotten from one of the attendants.

"You know you don't have to come all the way here to just get your wounds dressed up, right?" You remind the lieutenant, but at the back of your mind you're well aware the reason why Yanqing keeps coming back, "But thank you."

A couple of minutes pass like that, Yanqing kneeled on the floor as you set up everything, the distant tick-tock of the clock reverberating by the lieutenant ears.

"It doesn't hurt as much anymore, right?" you ask while undressing the bandages currently adorning his head, "It never hurt at all, who do you take me for, [Name]?!" he scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side harshly - immediately regretting said decision with a pained whimper.

You chuckle, brushing out his hair before starting to wrap the bandages around his head again, "You and that idiot really like to throw yourselves head first into danger, hmm?" you muse quietly, Yanqing's posture immediately stiffening at the mention of the general still unconscious beside you.

"He's not mad, is he?" Yanqing asks quietly after you've tied a knot, leaning his head back to stare at you. The mere question makes you laugh even more, "He was already aware of what you were planning to do, he could never be severely disappointed in you," the response made the younger boy let out a sigh of relief.

"... Are you mad at him?" Yanqing asks in the end, the boy having already made himself comfortable against you, twisting his body to lean his arms on your left thigh. Propping his chin on his arms that rests against your thigh, he takes a long look at Jing Yuan before directing his gaze back to you. He patiently waits for your response, but you can only blink back at him in wonder before your gaze turns towards Jing Yuan.

... Were you angry?

HOUR 32

"You're not gonna rot in this room with him of all things, [Name]." is the first thing Fu Xuan says the moment she slams the door open. You are for once, not cooped inside the clinic room, but outside by the balcony staring down at the Xianzhou people go on about their day with a cup of herbal tea in your hand, merely giving her a glance with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm very much not rotting inside there, Lady Fu. Bailu wouldn't let me either. Please give me a bit more credit than that," you say with a sigh, placing the cup of tea down in front of her before taking a seat opposite of her, "I'm just concerned is all, is there any news from Lady Bailu?" you question, the divination commissioner shaking her head, "Other than her confirming that the general should really just be deeply asleep, she hasn't found anything yet. But he did take a lot of wounds and hits during that fight from what I was informed, it's amazing there's nothing more than that."

A moment of silence passes, the only sound is the clinking of ice cubes against your glass while you swirled the tea around.

"That's the thing."

"Pardon?"

" There should be something more happening to him than just being bedridden needing a nap! He was almost turned into a voidranger of all things, Fu Xuan!" you shout, the fragile composure that you had so desperately tried to hold up cracking in just a few hours. The divination commissioners' eyes widening in surprise at the sudden outburst.

If the past you could've seen the state you were in now, they would've laughed at you. Even now you find yourself pathethic. Because it is pathethic, you've been through worse situations that lasted for weeks, months and even decades.

But somehow, seeing your beloved in such a position and unable to do anything when you usually were able to just cracks down on every purpose and belief you've held yourself to.

"He didn't want help, he didn't ask for help when he had the chance! He went into that battle expecting to not come back alive at all, but with purpose to bring that ravager down with him! And of course he would, it's Jing Yuan! He will lay down his entire soul and being, his life to protect the Xianzhou through another crisis - just like every other problem that could've risen to a crisis in the past centuries!" you cry, Fu Xuan can see that even with the outburst you're still trying to keep yourself sane, your knuckles turning white from gripping the corners of the table before you.

"The only thing I shouldn't have to worry about is when he's going to wake up, Fu Xuan. That worry shouldn't have to be my only concern with his condition," you mutter in the end. A few minutes pass by in silence, not because Fu Xuan didn't know what to say - moreso because she was aware that you weren't looking for comfort.

So she lets the few minutes pass before you raise your head with a smile. It's a smile she is well aware is forced: "Why don't we take a stroll outside then? I think Bailu would jump in joy if she sees me out of the room too."

HOUR 45

Fu Xuan realized how efficient you truly were whenever you didn't have to appease a touch starved general. A glance at the desk when she first arrived to drag you out showed her results of your hard work under 24 hours which was the finished and marked scrolls that was supposed to be sent to her - in addition to more "trivial" paperwork left behind at the Divine Foresight.

No wonder Marshal Hua was reluctant to let you go when Jing Yuan had first proposed to you.

And Fu Xuan will be damned to let said general also be your downfall.

So for the next 13 hours after that, you were somehow visited by numerous people who were in need of some minor help - that be the trailblazer looking immensely out of place as they asked you for some obvious facts about the luofu to Yanqing dragging you out to the training grounds to finally have a chance to spar with you again.

That girl really can't show concern in the normal way, can she?

A futile attempt to relieve your mind of endless worry - but an attempt nonetheless which makes a soft smile graze your lips. You sent a quick message to Qingzu to send a few Cloud Knights to guard the perimeter of the house before heading out the door once again.

If you knew the Cloud Knights well enough, they would already be running over - and sure enough you were greeted by enthusiastic greetings by them after merely taking a few steps away from the porch.

Fu Xuan merely gave you a deadpanned look when you arrived at the Divination Commission, "What, weren't you the one who wanted to distract me from worrying so much?" you asked with a grin.

"Yes, but I meant it in a way to relax your body and mind, not overwork yourself to exhaustion."

"Just humor me this once, Lady Fu."

Fu Xuan huffed, turned around while nagging at you. She didn't comment on the way you were clenching your fist so tightly that blood seeped out from where your fingernails were digging into your palm.

Love truly was a dangerous feeling.

HOUR 48

Jing Yuan felt like his whole body was underwater. It was hard to move, and even harder trying to open his eyes. There's a dull ache spreading through every vein in his body - a feeling he had gotten used to thanks to numerous battles, but with so many centuries of peace he was not liking how taxing it truly was.

Blinking his eyes open, he was met with an unfamiliar ceiling, but inside an environment that he was somewhat familiar with whenever he felt like skipping work.

Trying to heave himself up proved harder than normal, the man letting out a groan as he supported both hands on the bed to drag himself up to a sitting position.

He was covered in fresh bandages, so either Bailu or another attendant must've been inside a few hours before to change them. One look around the room gave him a rough idea on what has been going on.

It's been roughly 2 days since the battle with Phantylia, the new addition to the desk by the corner piled with scrolls and textbooks indicate that you've been by his side ever since he came back.

And lastly, although his whole body is hurting and moving even a muscle sends shockwaves of pain through his body, he was still very much alive.

"Bailu I've already been chased around for 13 hours to prevent from being inside there, I just want a break. No it's fine I don't need a bed I'll just sit by the balcony again - yes I'll call you if I need anything, don't worry. Really it's fine -" The fake cheer in your voice immediately stops up when you turn your head away from Bailu and into the room, but instead of being seen with the same scenery as you've gotten used to in the past 48 hours, you're staring straight into Jing Yuan's open eyes - the man himself only cocking his head to the side with a smile.

"Good afternoon, dear."

He can tell Bailu has already hightailed away to grab her things, which leaves him alone with you. You, who hasn't even moved a single muscle since locking eyes with him. Jing Yuan can see your mouth move in attempt to say something and that the hand on the door handle is trembling slightly.

"... What, you're not happy to see me?" he tries to joke, but the moment he sees your eyes flicker from surprise to anger he knew it was a bad joke to tell, "I'm sorry-"

"Sorry? You're sorry?!" you seethe through clenched teeth, still having enough rationality to not yell inside of a clinic of all things, even closing the door gently before marching into the room.

You don't even reach out to him, and Jing Yuan doesn't have the energy to reach out for you.

"You sure weren't sorry when you kept all of those plans to yourself and walked down that staircase with half a mind of not returning," you point out, and Jing Yuan can only give you the same easygoing smile he gave you that very same day.

"... Why? Why is at the most crucial moments that you want to do everything alone? Why won't you lean onto someone for once, why must you do everything in secrecy but at the same time be so open?" you question, every worry and fear just pouring and Jing Yuan let's you speak.

And even when his whole body hurts, he reaches out to gently grab your wrist to pull you down to sit by the bedside. He's aware that you could've easily stood your ground, because he's much too weak to actually force you to do anything.

And yet you're so pliant, sitting down close enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head against your shoulder, "... 48 hours isn't a long time for our people," you breathe softly after a moment of silence, "But those 48 hours where you didn't even turn around one single time nor make a single movement? It was almost the worst 48 hours I've experienced so far."

"And I hate it, why have I let you reduce me to something so vulnerable and I can't do anything about it?! Why have you gone against everything you first promised to me?!" Your voice is gradually getting louder, but Jing Yuan doesn't comment on it.

"I'm sorry," he mutters again, and you only scoff, "You're not sorry, I know you're not. If something like this happened again I know you would do the exact same thing."

You know him too well, and that's what also scares him in the end.

Because if you weren't so high on emotions right now and just took a moment to think, you would realize that if you were in the same battlefield as him things would not go as smoothly - to either one of you.

It was better for him to be alone right then and there - because if Phantylia had even seen one weakness from him of all people it would've reduced the already slim chances of them winning that battle to zero.

If Phantylia had even decided to target you, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his rationality inside - because you have him wrapped around your finger more than you realize.

Every regret and painful memory he has experienced have started to pale when he compares to every joyful moment you've given him. So if you were to perish in that fight for him and for the Xianzhou? Jing Yuan would've truly lost against the battle of time.

He's selfish, for once he wants to be selfish because he's chosen to not be in every waking moment of his life - so he wants to be selfish this once and rather take a gamble with his life than toy with yours.

"I'm sorry," he whispers once again, a hand reaching out to cup your cheek, the general chuckling when he feels a stray tear his his thumb. He leans back to watch you, a guilty look crossing his features at your slightly reddened eyes.

And yet you're glaring at him in anger, but Jing Yuan is so relieved that you're still there with him.

So he leans in with no hesitation, pecking the corner of your eyes while whispering that he's sorry after every peck, his thumb pushing down on your lower lip to stop you from biting your lips so harshly, "I truly am," he whispers, silencing the bubbling sobs coming from your lips with his own.

He is sorry. And he hates the thought of you hurting, because both of you had gone through enough. But he would rather that you go through 48 hours of pure torment for him than taking the risk of losing you completely.

His love for you is selfish like that, because if he wasn't selfish he would be too vulnerable.

[madame-fear]

˗ˏˋ 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 + 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 ˎˊ˗

ೀ amira speaks! : part two of my fluff + smut prompt lists for requests, check them out here! requests are currently closed. remember to specify who says what to who when requesting! 彡 last updated : 08/03/2024 — ♡

116. (character) is talking to someone about you. they try to hide how they feel about you, but it’s quite obvious. “I like them a normal amount.” character says, “we get along, we’re just friends.” “and you’re a friend... who stares at them smiling to yourself like an idiot?” “shut up, you know nothing.”

117. lazy morning kisses and cuddles.

118. “so wet already? I barely even touched you. You must be quite needy.” (smut)

119. “Can I touch you over here?” (smut)

120. “Do you like it like this? Or should I go slower?” (smut)

121. “You’re blushing, that’s cute.” “Shut up, stupid.” (specify who says this to who)

122. “Can I please hold your hand?”

123. “You’ll have to beg for that.” (smut, specify scenario if possible)

124. “Please, if you could stay with me for the night, I would be grateful. I need you.”

125. (character)’s friends discreetly playing matchmaking by placing both of you in places where you can be alone together. You’re both oblivious to your mutual pining, so at one point they force (character) to ask you out for once and for all.

126. “They gave us... One bed?” “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” (could end in smut, or simply fluffy teasing)

127. “I think I might be dying... These may be my last words.” “It’s a small fever. If you don’t quit whining, the only thing killing you today will be my bare hands around your neck.”

128. “Touch yourself for me.” (smut)

129. “Your breasts are cold. Can I warm them with my hands?” “No.” “Pleeeeeeaseeeeee?” “Fine, but stop staring at my with those sad puppy eyes.” (smut)

130. Pillowfighting with (character). (Character) is better at it than you, but when you complain about it, they let you win because they genuinely feel bad.

131. Drunken love confessions to you.

132. Same as 131, but with you being drunk and confessing your love to (character).

133. “Don’t you like being all marked by me? Look at you, everyone will know you’re mine.” (smut)

134. “Someone might see us!” “Isn’t that the fun of it, love?” (smut)

135. “You are one pretty little whore. My pretty little whore.” (smut)

136. (character) gently removing your hands from your very flustered face after you give each other your first kiss, finding them smiling to themselves at how adorable you are.

137. “Who hurt you? I’ll get my revenge on them.”

138. “I could warm you up... From the inside.” (smut)

139. character introduces you to someone. “this is my girlfriend/wife!” (specify). you turn to them in confusion, becoming flustered. “yeah... your girlfriend/wife.”

140. “Stop stealing the blankets!” “Gods you’re so oblivious- I want you to come closer and cuddle me to seek warmth!”

141. “Why should I look up at the stars, when you have a whole constellation in your pretty eyes?” (so cheesy, woops)

142. “How come you were in love with me all this time?!” “I THOUGHT I HAD BEEN OBVIOUS ENOUGH ALREADY!”

143. “Look elsewhere, and I stop.” (smut)

144. “You have such a pretty, delicate little mouth. You surely take my cock so well.” (smut)

145. (character) lifting you from the floor, taking you in their arms, and happily swriling you around the place after not seeing each other for quite some time.

146. “We should film this.” (smut)

147. “Go fuck yourself.” “Only if you watch.” (could be smut or not, specify!)

[weixuldo]

Like a Drug

Toxic!Anakin x Reader

a/n: hihihi, this one is a pretty long one shot ahh sorry! its based on this ask from @hanasnx ! (Though I did change the promp a little) I just wanted to also update that It is officially finals week- so I'll be slower than i alr am SORRY!! but i have been working on the next xhapters of allow me and enigma when i get breaks!! I hope u enjoy! ALSO! Please don't stay w someone if they act the way anakin does in this fic- this is purely a scenario for fictional purposes, never let anyone do anything he does, to you.

Anakin has a very peculiar way of showing his love; well you call it love other people call it an unhealthy obsession... you finally realize how fucked up the situation is and leave- but the real question is how long can you stay away?

warnings: cursing, toxic bf ani, smex, cumplay, agressive behavior, mention of blood, fights, alluded sexual harassment, anakin is obsessive and posessive. (he's does some fucked up shit)

_____________________

“Get up” Anakin’s stern voice rang as he gripped your upper arm. 

You jumped at the unexpected contact- why was Anakin here? 

“Ani! You scared m-” you started to laugh before he tightened his grip.

“Now.” he growled. 

You looked back at your friends sitting across the table from you; their eyes were wide. Before you could say anything, Anakin started to pull you up. 

“Let go of her!” one of your friends demanded. 

He snapped his head towards her and only loosened his grip on you to stomp to the other side of the table. His tall frame towered as he glared daggers at her. 

“The fuck did you just say?” he spat.

She went pale and looked down at her lap. 

“That’s what I thought. Anyone else have any smart comments?” he huffed, before promptly pulling you out of the restaurant. 

Before you made it all the way out the door you mouthed an “its ok” to your friends before following your boyfriend outside. 

“Anakin, what the fuck?” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air. 

He continued towards his sleek black camaro (he loved to drive through the city at night, music blaring and his hand on his property, your thigh). 

“Don’t fucking ignore me Anakin!” you shouted, gaining the attention of an older couple who were heading inside the restaurant. 

Your cheeks burned as you caught their stares, but honestly you were used to this shit, it wasn’t the first time you and Ani had made a scene in public. Anakin always did this- he would get pissy over some irrelevant thing and you would get into an argument. 

He stopped and turned with such anger.

“You really wanna know? You shouldnt have to fuckin’ ask why I’m upset! If you ever thought of anyone but yourself you’d see how fucked up it is of you to get dinner with those bitches who want to break us up” he screamed; his beautiful blue eyes dark with rage. 

You knew Anakin hated your friends. And you knew they hated him.

“You know they don’t like me and always try to get you to leave- Meanwhile those sluts cant keep their legs shut; they’re probably just jealous cause I’m the only guy who gets to fuck you and they have to find a new one every night!” he spat. 

Most of your friends were in stable relationships, but of course Anakin didn’t bother to remember that. 

“How am I selfish Anakin? I just wanted to grab dinner with the girls and you didn’t even come up. I told them not to bring you up after the last fight” you sighed, exhausted from Anakin's irrational moods. 

His sculpted jaw clenched and his right eye twitched. 

“It's the fact that you still even allow their company, it’s disrespectful.”

You shook your head and huffed in disbelief. 

“Anakin, you are absolutely unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable… Do you even hear yourself right now?!” you screamed. 

“And not that it should even fucking matter, but how did you even know I was with them?” 

“I have your location- you know that” he stated as if you asked if the sky was blue. 

“I know that, but how about them?”

He knew where they were because he made several alternative snapchat accounts and pretended to be someone from school who was just looking for new friends.

He spent nights pretending to be an excited freshman who was wondering where the science building was. He used remix to send your friends snaps that made it look like he was on campus or hanging out downtown with other students. And eventually he gained their trust enough for them to turn on their snap map for him so he could “make sure they were safe” if they went somewhere, since it's “dangerous for us college girls down here”. 

“Intuition.” 

You rolled your eyes and laughed, “No way, you probably chipped their phones or some psycho shit cause you’re fucking crazy Anakin!” 

“Well if you just goddamn did what I told you we wouldn’t have to have these conversations or be in these situations” he replied dryly. 

“How many fucking “rules” are there for me to follow?! Everytime I go out or do anything, you find something to nit pick! It's exhausting! I don’t even know why I’m still with you?!”

“Get in the car.” he demanded. 

“You’re insane if you think-”

His whole demeanor shifted and he sighed, “baby, please… I’m sorry, let’s talk about this”. 

“No, Anakin- i’m done with your bullshit” you said, heading back towards the building. 

He felt his scarred eye twitch, but he needed to subdue his temper (just until he could take it out on your pretty pussy).

See, Anakin Skywalker was a master manipulator. He knew that no matter how much you fought or how insane he acted- you would always come back.

This was clockwork for him. You’d fight, he’d act vulnerable, you would fuck, and then you’d be good for a while. A perfect system. Never failed. 

He called your name with a desperate plea- he had no problem acting needy if it got him to where he needed to be, plus this gave you the illusion of having power in this familiar situation. 

You hesitantly turned around to meets his gaze; his beautiful blue eyes glassy with his brilliant manipulation. 

“Baby, I’m sorry- I just worry about you..” he spoke softly as you subconsciously came closer. 

Soon his strong arms were wrapped around your waist and his scent flooded your senses. 

“You know I can't control my feelings sometimes- I just love you too much- I can’t lose you too…” he whispered into your hair. 

You knew exactly what he was referring to with the “too”- his mother. He was very close with her, growing up she was all he had. A few years back she passed away and it took a big toll on your lover.

You never wanted to admit it, but you knew he used that to guilt trip you into staying or to get you to feel bad for him. 

You hated him. 

But you couldn’t stop…

You held him tighter and grabbed his shirt fabric, “I know Ani… I know”.

You were now crying too- You knew this was unhealthy- toxic even; but you just couldn’t quit him. 

You felt his strong arms lift you up and he carried you towards his camaro; you knew what came next… He’d comfort you, fuck you, then you would act as if no argument ever happened.

A cycle you had gotten all too familiar with. 

__________________________________

“F-fuck” Anakin stuttered as he slammed his cock into you; intensive sounds of your bodies colliding, ricochet off the bedroom walls. 

“You feel s-so good Baby- doin’ so good for me” he praised as he thrusted in and out of your plush walls. You were lying on your back as he held one of your legs over his shoulder so he could hit even deeper. 

The glorious feeling of his calloused hands along your smooth stomach made you shiver. When you first started dating Anakin he told you that he would please you so well that no other men would be able to compare.

he was right…

No man could navigate your body the way he does, read your tells like he could, no man could make you cum as well as Anakin could.

He slowed his hips for a moment making you whine at the lack of movement from his thick cock. 

“Look at me baby”. 

You blinked your doe eyes open, tears falling from the corners. He observed your features before his eyes softened. 

“My girl, my pretty girl… always so lovely” she smiled before tenderly kissing you. 

“I love you more than anything” he whispered against your plump lips. 

This.

Moments like this were why you stayed: he could be kind- he was sweet- he did care. 

You were about to reciprocate his statement but were cut off by his hand tightly gripping around your throat as he continued snapping his hips into yours.

You squealed with each powerful thrust- it was ok, you’d tell him later. 

His swollen member was blushing red and as hard as could be. He absolutely adored having you below him, taking his dick like a champ- he remembered how proud he was when you were finally able to take all of him. 

A particularly hefty thrust sent his neurons firing and he knew he was almost at his end. He sloppily bucked his hips into your pelvis as his breathing became more erratic. 

“I’m gonna cum- w-where do you want it sweet girl?” he half stuttered, half moaned.

You patted your chest and gave Anakin a knowing look. 

With that he was gone, his brows knitted together in ecstasy and his hips lurched forward. A string of obscenities left his mouth as he quickly slid his dick out of you to aim for your chest. 

Barely one pump in, his warm seed coated your chest. You watched as his abs and thighs contracted with each wave of pleasure. Some of his damp curls stuck to his forehead, he had a sheen of sweat, and his cheeks were flushed. 

What a beautiful sight. 

_________________________________________

Anakin’s fingers tucked some wild strands of hair behind your ear as you slept peacefully beside him.

Last night cut it a little closer than he normally would have, but it all worked out because here you were, still with him- fast asleep in his bed. 

He grabbed your phone and began to go through your messages (an unhealthy habit he picked up a few months back), his fingers immediately moved to the new notifications from your friends.

He opened the pinned group chat and read the messages from last night. 

Where r u? Where’d he take u?

Are you alright?

WTF was that?!

Anakin rolled his eyes; your friends were always so dramatic. But he smiled when he saw your response. 

“Guys i'm good, ani took me home and we talked things out- he’s just been really stressed out lately, it's nothing to worry about!”

You were his good girl and he’d spoil you today for your loyalty. 

He continued to scroll passively until he got to the newer unread messages. 

y/n, can we all please talk when you get back- we’re worried about you

Yea, anakin doesn’t seem like he has the best intentions

We hate to see you in this situation

Babe, he’s toxic- u need to dump him

“...u need to dump him”

Anakin almost threw the phone across the room- no way these bitches were telling you to dump him?!

He was the only one who took care of you, he was the only one who knew what was best for you- who did these girls think they were?!

Before he could stop himself he took out his own phone and copied all of their numbers down so he could send several nasty message to the girls basically telling them to back the fuck off and being unnecessarily hateful.

After he blocked their numbers, he decided it was time for a shower, so he left you with a kiss and headed to the bathroom. 

The emptiness of the bed made you wake. For a moment, you began to search for Anakin but the shower in the other room indicated where he was. 

You smiled and cuddled further into his sheets. The warmth of the blankets began to pull you back into slumber but your phone interrupted the notion. 

It was one of the girls you had gotten dinner with last night, what would she be calling this early for?

“Hello?”

y/n, I’m sorry but you need to come back now, I don’t think it's the best idea for you to be with anakin-

“Wait, slow down… why?”

She sent you screenshots of the messages he sent and you almost dropped your phone.

“What the fuck?! Anakin sent this?”

Yes, this morning- I really think you should get out of that relationship y/n- I’ve been telling you this! He’s trying to make you dependent on only him- it's not healthy!

You took a moment to regain your thoughts and quickly said a goodbye when you heard the water stop running. 

Why would he be so cruel? You knew he had his issues but he’d never been so explicitly viscous before. Maybe your friends were right, you had been manipulated so much that you were defending his toxic behavior. This had to stop. 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to face him for long (he would just pull you back in). So you quickly began to gather your things so that it would be easier to leave after you talked with him. 

You almost had everything packed when the doorknob turned to reveal a fresh Anakin; his hair was still damp from the shower and his skin had a glistening shine from the residual steam. He had such a big smile… you hated this, but it needed to be done. 

“What’s going on princess?” he frowned when he saw your bag was already packed. 

“Anakin… I have to go” you said hurriedly. 

He moved in front of you and held up a hand, “Woah, can we talk about what’s going on? Why are you leaving in such a hurry?” he asked (genuinely worried). 

With a sigh, you looked him in the eye, “Anakin- we can’t keep doing this- we aren’t good for eachother”. 

He felt his chest tighten. 

“Was it your friends? Did they put those thoughts in your head?! I told you they weren’t-”

“Anakin! Please, enough! I saw what you said to them- Why the fuck would you say that? You’re not acting like the man I fell in love with… You’ve changed so much” you said with watery eyes.

For a moment he looked as if he were going to punch something but eventually he let out a breath and defeatedly stood to the side. Your words seemed to really hit him. 

“Angel, I do what I do because I love you- you know that. I know I’m messed up- but I’ve been working on it, Truly” he promised.

Tears fell as you shook your head, “I know Ani, but it's not fair to me- I can’t keep doing this! We always end up fighting and you always get upset”

“I DON'T!” Anakin unintentionally shouted, making you shrink away from him. 

“This is what I'm talking about Ani, I don’t wanna do this- no, i’m not doing this anymore. I’m leaving” you said, grabbing your things and heading for the door. 

He called your name but you ignored him, you almost got to his front door when he grabbed your upper arm. 

“Let go!” you shouted, snatching your arm from his hold.

“Please, just leave me alone” you cried as you walked out of the house and headed for the uber you sneakily called while he was still in the shower. 

As the uber drove away, you saw a confused and hurt Anakin standing in his driveway.

You put your head in your hands and cried… 

It needed to be done.

It had to. 

_________________________________________

A few months later

The early autumn air nipped at your skin as you haistilly exited the rowdy club. You shivered and crossed your arms after checking the time. 

10:34 pm

You had only gotten to the damn club 30 minutes ago and you already wanted to leave. You and some friends had gone out to reward yourselves for a hard week (and to hopefully get your mind off of your ex).

Some guy in the club had gotten a little too handsy fior your comfort- he attempted to put his hand up your dress and grope your breasts while you were just leaning over the bar to order another drink. You slapped him across the face and made your way outside to get some air. 

You wanted to leave; as you stood by the curb you felt the familiar sting of tears pricking at your eyes. 

Fuck. 

The sensation of alcohol warmed your tummy and clouded your thoughts. Warm, strong hands protecting you from any other man who dared to look at you. Fierce blue eyes warding off any unwanted attention- 

No. 

You physically shook your head and opened your phone to distract yourself. There was no fucking way you were thinking about him right now. You scrolled to your uber app and looked up rates for a ride back to your apartment. 

$40, $35, $47, $32, $43

The rates were through the roof, no way you were going to pay that just to get a few blocks home. 

Almost instinctively, your hands moved so that your thumb was shivering over Anakin’s number. 

What were you doing?!

You were about to swipe off when you realized: you weren’t willing to take an expensive uber, but you also didn’t want to walk that far in heels and at night. Maybe you should call him… at least you know him and he does owe you a favor anyways. 

Fuck it. 

You unblock and dial his number. 

Ring…

Ring…….

Ring………..

Voicemail.

You groaned. You knew very well what he was doing- he was making you call several times so that you would look desperate. He loved doing that shit. You dialed again. 

Ring…

 Rin- 

“Hey sweet thing, finally came to your senses?” he said, smugness dripping off his every word. 

“Anakin- please come pick me up” you sniffed. 

“And why would I do that? Why would I do you a favor after you’ve been such a bra-”

“Ani- someone tried to touch me- I wanna go home” you cried. 

The other end of the phone went silent. Anakin’s eye began to twitch and his grip on the phone tightened. 

“Where?” he gritted out. 

“What? I’m on fourth street, over by the old mill-”

“Where did he touch you?” he interrupted. 

You took a breath- maybe you shouldn’t have called Anakin, you knew he was going to cause a scene- but at the same time a dark part of you wanted him to become violent with his passion for you. 

“He put his hand up my skirt and started groping my breas-”

“I’m on my way” is all he said before finally adding-

“That fucker is dead.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, Ani was coming. 

___________

Anakin’s knuckles were a fiery red as he dealt several blows to the man who had dared to touch his girl. His vision clouded by rage and hatred; how dare someone try to touch what was his. 

Sure, you were broken up (or so you thought); but anakin saw it as just a small break- You were getting back together- he knew it.

All he was waiting on was your call. 

Once he was satisfied, he stood up and shook the blood off of his hand. He looked over his work; the man’s face wa bloodied and his lip was cracked (there was also possibly a tooth missing but Anakin didn’t really give a  fuck). 

He leaned over and spat, “Don’t ever touch someone who isn’t yours again”. 

He made his way through the crowd of stunned onlookers who all began to back away from him as he headed towards the bathroom. Once he got there, everyone stepped out and allowed him to walk in with no hesitation (They didn’t want to get on his bad side in any shape or form). 

He leaned on the sink and examined the cut on his cheekbone. 

Whatever. 

He turned on the faucet and washed the blood from his hands; no need for his beautiful girl to see the blood of a fucking perv. 

He dried his hands and exited the building to collect you from outside the building. 

You stood there, arms crossed, his jacket draped over your shoulders: his Angel. 

“Hey, sweetheart” he called in a soft voice as he put his arm around you. 

You looked at him with big eyes. 

“Are you alright?” He kissed your forehead. 

You nodded and hugged him closer to you.

“It's all taken care of, let's get you home”

______

“I knew you’d come back” he broke the silence in the car (well, the radio was on- but you hadn’t spoken since he left the club).

“Anakin, can we please not talk about this right now? '' you said quietly. 

He glanced at you and put a tender hand on your thigh. 

“Angel, these past few weeks without you have been hell… I’m sorry for how I acted- I love you”.

You knew this was just another way he was trying to manipulate you- he definitely don’t attempt to better himself, but you couldn’t help but indulge him- after all… you missed him too. You placed one of your hands on top of his and met his eye. 

“Ani- will you take me to your’s?” you asked shyly, as if you hadn’t spent countless nights in his bed. 

He smiled and rubbed his hand along your leg, “Of course darling”. 

“Maybe I can help relieve some of your stress too,” he added with a deeper tone. 

You mentally sighed- of course he wanted that; but you also wouldn’t mind having him near you again, so you politely nodded with a smile. 

He squeezed your thigh, “That’s my girl, I knew you couldn’t quit me that easy”

You turned your head to look out the window at the bright city once more… He was right- you just couldn’t quit him.

***

Once again anakin is completely fucked up in this fic- pls dont romantiscice this behavior in real life... other than that- I hope you enjoyed the fic lmfaooo. I haven't really written ani as an actually problamatic character before, its mostly just like rude or grumpy ani lmfao. but ty for stopping by!!